

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Shelf 









?^‘V: i.\ '^'.; 



‘ '*V- 

J •fV V i ^ • 

L« ' ^ 1 

'il'. 




c i««,' -V-: .• r •■. 

te-' '* '!?• ‘ '. ' .'* • . 

E. V-'.‘ •• 


I*-. 

j' - ■ . .•.V-mtt.. . - --. - ,., 


itf"' Vv-r^l't.'r- : '. 

Kr."' •; . 


|l' r ■- • ,‘l '/^’ ■ • • ' ' 






^ tiff ^iil 

•'* ',' ■' k ^ ' 'v'n *^1 **»■■>■>* '• 




,■■/ 

'r- if.Vv -'r-' •'C‘?^^;i 

. ..:■ ■' ■> ■/•V--^^*‘-'.;S 


, '.'rS'-''. V- 


■< I - - T^’ 

■■' ■■ 



W 




i •* ', 's ^j* •' F yj»r ' 


: ■ 


*• J 




I 


•. ' . * # •* «* .*1 * • t». 

’••v- V.- •-:'- 

‘■-■■■" ■ ■ 

■' ' -r *Jv.- J?w 5 




' "j- 


■.1 ' 



-•■.-'"a 


.'■X 

f‘ • 


. ’ ,- -- - •> ,■^ir^'^‘■•''''^' ■' 

- f 

t?*, 

■ --‘V 

. Vr^’< ' r .-•», r 

*• N .V • . ' ‘'"L 

• .1 \ ' 


' .'. 'Ci-i 




*•- - 


‘ *■ • .' '/ V'^ 


. »■ ■'/ >s 

•*; 3 . .•••’ i 


' . A ■'' '•• 


\ I 


- tv*': <K< 




-* . ' i \ .:;- 


V- • 















j- 








!'• A lw 






* *• 1#.“. 


‘-V 


u» 


- v^: 


.'*^j 




♦>»; 




'&► 




MC 


'l\ ^^- 








-. '>■ 


“rsT 




'■/4 


,.f 


A A 


Ti 




V.’ 




< « 


>t 5 


1^ 








^•z 


*?? 


i? 


wfL 


> f • ¥ 


.f 






.►-r • 




. ^ 1 ' -:t': ■* 
* > - 


■•• "*. T" - ■ • 




. 4 >#r / 


7 *t. 




“*-- ' ■ ■•• jjAii 


‘V 


t ^ 


* i-f ••- \ 




BT- < ^ 










,i 


s;§SPi9 


•i# j£ 


/■v r . « 


k/y_ 


. w^*’ ■**'* 

S?"' . 








5^ 




Iv 


V '1 


f-^] 


r.;,BLi 


r 


^1' 

k 


> <r 


iVh% 




•jt •-. ItT. ■ fe 






, **■ 




4jW^' -5T. Of 








U 




T: 


i ■ 4 


.-j-^ *. 








-' ’fC- ’ ^ • i'-jCtt* - LL 




Si:>> ■-.! 

,'r. '•/'^■^ 
y 'U,' '* 


/ 




Wm 


Ir • 






■fV* 


ir 






*A 


- I. 


^ ■ *>• 




A<‘ 


■tv: 


f •■ 






I*. 












v>i 








ft 






• ' •t’'V 






0 ^ 





Annie Cooper’s Friends, 


OP 


“The Do Society” Series. 


By MRS. C. B. HOWARD, 

Author o/^*Paihs that Crossed,'* and **The Do Society,'* 


*‘In His Name” be “Rich in Good Works.” 


391894 ^:) 

WASH'-^ ^ 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL DEPARTMENT. 


Publishing House Methodist Episcopal Church, South. 
Barbee & Smith, Agents, Nashville, Tenn. 

1893. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1892,. 

Bt the Book Agents of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


¥1 


Editorial Note. 


Annie Cooper’s Friends is No. 3 in “ The Do Society ” 
series, by Mrs. C. B. Howard. The author has adapt- 
ed the wise counsels and helpful suggestions which the 
book contains to the method of Christian work set 
forth in the Constitution and By-laws of the Epworth 
League of the M. E. Church, South, and thus furnished 
a valuable manual of practical instruction for the young 
people of our Church, showing them how most success- 
fully to carry out the objects of the League. Such a 
book is much needed, and we are greatly obliged to 
the gifted author for giving us one so admirably suited 
to the purpose. We are sure our young people will 
find it a great help in every department of League 
w^ork. 

The same. admirable taste, good sense, practical piety, 
and pleasing style which characterize the other vol- 
umes of the series are manifest in every page of this 
delightful little book. The discussion of principles un- 
derlying the best methods and plans for Christian work 
is clear, scriptural, and eminently suggestive. The nar- 
rative into which all this is woven with a deft and 
skillful hand is highly interesting, and the principal 
character, Annie Cooper, is a beautiful example of 
Christian cheerfulness and patience, with a genius for 
doing good, though a confirmed invalid. 

We heartily commend this new book to all our peo- 
ple, especially to all our Epworth Leagues. 

W. G. E. CuNNYNGHAM, 

Sunday School Editor. 

Nashville, Tenn., October, 1892. 

( 3 ) 




M 


M * 


o 




I ^ /'. - . 


‘fs 


'V 

\ 

4 


' ^ 




4 

V 




k 






^ • — 


V . 

• * •• 


.. ^1: 




H ^ 

• V 


t 

/ 


*« • 
• I 


k I 


» 4 
4 


-cr* 


f 


v tV 


* ■'*-, y- ' 




J f 

>t ... 


/ ; • 

. » 


S‘ 


y 


f- ' ■ '-/"^^ 


Y i 


- i 




v^'-‘ *c 


4 ^ 1 * 

r- <Vi - r ' • 

-' r * - .* « -» *< . - 

■■ ‘-/' J- ■' ■•-;,••■'*; : 






^ -r • ♦ 


■9 • i -p * . 

"i- 


• • 

% 


; < 












'• . V ‘. .. * ' • V TJ 


r. 


* > X ' 

» I 


4# 


# ^ 


• t 


>% 


\ \ 




a.-m : 


Pf '^^ ' ^X r^. V : ^ 

' tfF'i ■;^ 

m '/ • * - '+/' ?’•*» ' J ? *■- -*^'. ' *‘-41^1 

-V *■ '.•^■* ' i .y. -^ • . ■* * * * ■•'' > Jjtt^ 


• % 




W' 

^ir i'» V 

• i ^ 


I*'--.'/ 

# • 

^ ^-r '• 

i> rt • ^ , . 

c ^ ^ 

V' ' -■' > 


: .-W/ 

. ^ t 

•* 4 

•t- 

.Pi V ; 


• •• 

4 


- u, .' 

4 


> ^ • 


»■ ^T *' *• 

*; .* • %i 

■ ■ 


-I 


. I -^1 T. 


V 


•* * . ►-r V I ■ ■. 

♦ ^ V . > » • . y • ' ' > '' 

• ■ '*>:•■•>■ :v, t _ r ’V-s. '. -i- 

-V. . <■ .V. ,. “> 


« ♦ 

• • • ^ . 


V 


• 4 


r . 


•r 


•4 


f 

S ^ Y 

i. * 




. 4 


4 * 4 , 

#/ jY/ 


•w ^ 


* 


4 


4^1 


>& 


fc -* r**- ^ • r ■ * ' 


.> ✓ 
• 4 


^:.t • * ^ ' 

V. 

» .. WV'* .• ^ 

' • -’ ■••• . s 


i * . 

st vC 




^ f 
¥ ' 


• 1 


• ► 


V 


TV 


^ . 


>L 

': 1 * 

-N • > - 


Y . 

• - » 


K', ' 

*9 • ^ 

p 

‘ .-, ' 


4 4 , 


✓ r 


• -1 - 

f • . *4 




« »_ 


• , 
w 




i-' 




' t / 


h! .. 1 ,:; 




# 4 






.r 




ANNIE COOPER’S FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE I. 

A LARGE, cheery room, with all that sun- 
shine, flowers, pictures, books, and tasteful 
furnishing can give. A stranger upon enter- 
ing would involuntarily have felt that not 
wealth alone, but love, had planned and per- 
fected it all; and glancing around upon each 
object of comfort and beauty, the thought 
would arise, “ Surely this is the abode of hap- 
piness.” The thought would quickly merge 
into conviction at the first look into the' face 
of the sole occupant of the apartment. Ee- 
clining in an invalid chair lay a young girl ap- 
parently still in her “teens,” although in reality 
she was almost twenty-one years of age; her 
delicate features and complexion, together with 
her rather small frame, being the causes of 
her seeming youth. As the eye lingered with 
pleasure upon the fair picture she presented, 
the belief was reached that it was not the 
beauty of form and face, not the large gray 
eyes with their long silken fringe, not the ten- 

( 5 ) 


6 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


der curves of cheek and chin and lips, not the 
broad brow and clustering brown hair, that 
made the chief attraction, but the soul which 
pervaded all, the peace resting upon that brow, 
the gentleness which had set its seal upon her 
lips, the love and joy beaming from her most 
expressive eyes, declaring that if her room 
was a fit abode for happiness her spirit was 
indeed its inmost shrine. 

She lay with her face turned to the large 
bay window beside her, her gaze fixed upon 
the clear blue of an April sky, lost in thought. 
That her meditations were pleasant was proved 
by the light that kindled in her earnest eyes, 
the smile that almost parted her sensitive lips. 
Presently they did indeed part, and from them 
issued a song, low in pitch, but with a trium- 
phant ring: 

“Glory be to the Father; 

Glory be to the Son ; 

Glory be to the Holy Ghost; 

As it was in the beginning, 

Is now, and ever shall be. 

World without end. Amen.” 

For a moment she remained in a silent ec- 
stasy, then closing the Bible, which had lain 
open upon her lap, she replaced it upon a 
stand at her side, on which rested a few of her 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


7 


favorite books and a flat dish of fresh flowers. 
She bent to inhale their fragrance and rear- 
range them with a loving touch. 

Just then a portiere was drawn aside and 
her mother appeared. Depositing her key 
basket on the center table, she advanced to 
her daughter, throwing a light robe across 
her feet, and said: “I am through with my 
housekeeping for the rest of the day, and can 
now read to my darling. Shall we resume our 
travels with Bishop Marvin? We had finished 
the tenth chapter, I think.” 

As Mrs. Cooper is reading to her daughter, 
an explanation can be given to those who are 
not already acquainted with Annie Cooper, 
through the pages of ‘^The Do Society,” in 
regard to her invalid condition. Nearly five 
years before, when a playful, thoughtless girl, 
she was rendered a sufferer for life, because 
of a railroad accident which had so injured 
her spine that she was ever afterward unable 
to walk. This affliction had been so blessed, 
spiritually, to the young girl herself, and 
through her consistent and cheerful Christian 
life to all her family and many friends, that 
they had long since come to recognize it as one 
of the “all things” which “work together for 
good to them that love God.” 


8 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Forth from that invalid couch had flowed a 
stream of blessedness and happy influences 
which already had gone beyond the cognizance 
of the pure and loving heart whose constant 
prayer for so long had been, “Lord, what 
wilt thou have me to do? ” 

Annie Cooper’s room for years had been a 
center of Christian activities, from which had 
emanated help for the needy, comfort for the 
sorrowing, sympathy for all. Gathered around 
her had been a company of young friends, 
who owned that her beautiful life had inspired 
them to imitation, and who were ever eager 
to act upon her suggestions. Her widowed 
sister, Mrs. Dabney, devoted her life to alms- 
deeds and works of benevolence, gladly ac- 
knowledging that to her young sister she was 
indebted not only for the first impulses in that 
direction, but also for an experience similar 
to that which Peter had, of being brought to 
Jesus by the invitation of his own brother. 

Mrs. Cooper had read but a little while 
to her attentive auditor before the doorbell 
rang, and in a few moments one of Annie’s 
dearest friends was ushered in. 

“I wanted to come last night, dear,” said 
Olive Hastings, as she laid a fragrant sprig of 
lemon verbena and a rose-colored hyacinth in 


ANNIE COOPER S FRIENDS. 


9 


Annie’s open palm. It was seldom, by the 
way, that anyone came into that beloved pres- 
ence without some pleasant token, to whisper, 
when she had left, of affectionate thoughtful- 
ness. “I wanted to come last night, but it 
was too late. We organized our Epworth 
League after prayer meeting, and we were all 
so interested that I think it was fully eleven 
o’clock before we dispersed. Then I knew 
Mrs. Cooper had had you in bed an hour at 
least, Annie* However, I have come the first 
thing this morning, to tell you about our 
organization.” 

will be truly glad to hear. Have many 
joined?” 

“ About twenty. J ust a nucleus. But each 
member has pledged to endeavor by the next 
meeting to bring another name. We hope to 
interest and enlist all the young people of our 
Church.” 

“ You may enter my name, Olive.” 

‘‘Do you mean in the Epworth League? If 
so, I have already given it to your pastor,” 
said Mrs. Dabney, who had come into the room 
while they were speaking. “You know I was 
not at prayer meeting last night. I sat up 
with Mrs. Armstrong’s baby, who is very sick; 
but as I was on my way home just now, I met 


10 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Mr. Wilkinson, who told me of the organiza- 
tion of the ‘League,’ and here is your badge. 
Sis.” So Saying, she drew from her purse the 
tiny Maltese cross; and cutting off a bit of 
narrow white ribbon which lay in her work- 
basket near by, passed it through the little 
ring and approaching her sister tied it in a 
buttonhole of her wrapper. 

“I selected an oxidized silver badge because 
your badge of the ‘King’s Daughters,’ which 
you have worn so long, is of sterling silver. 
See how prettily the white ribbon of the for- 
mer contrasts with the royal purple of the 
latter.” 

“Another badge! and another society! Alice, 
where will it end?” And Mrs. Cooper raised 
protesting hands. 

“ Not until we have exhausted our opportu- 
nities of usefulness, mamma. If you notice, 
each society has its own distinct ways, means, 
and aims; and as for badges, I think I have 
displayed surprising skill in combining them 
as I have. Our W. C. T. U. badge, the sim- 
ple white ribbon, secures the Epworth cross 
in a very inconspicuous manner. Then how 
could we do without our dear little motto we 
have worked under so long, ‘In His Name?’ 
That cannot be equaled; we must combine 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


11 


them in this way: "In His Name’ be "Eich in 
Good Works.’ ” 

“Mrs. Cooper, you must not object to An- 
nie’s wearing badges,” insisted Olive. “I 
like to see them on her. I wish there was a 
badge for every society she belongs to, so she 
could present a glittering front like a royal 
personage in Europe, and shame us lazier 
ones for not taking as deep an interest in every- 
thing connected with the Church and human- 
ity as she does.” 

“O Olive!” laughed Annie, “what else can 
I do but pay my dues and be interested in 
every organization I am asked to join? It 
affords me much pleasure, and gives me new 
things to think about. And, mamma, you 
don’t really object to the societies, either, I 
am sure, for I believe your name is on the roll 
of every one in our Church — except the ju- 
venile. Is that the reason you intimated a 
lack of cordiality to our youngest? Ah, mam- 
ma, I have you in a corner!” 

Mrs. Cooper smiled. “ I confess my implied 
protest was very faint. I trust I am in accord 
with all the aims desired. I only fear your 
strength and sympathy may be too much taxed, 
my sweet child. And really, while I am not 
prepared to doubt the wisdom of the General 


12 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Conference, I do not see in what respects the 
Epworth League will be preferable to the cir- 
cles of ‘King’s Daughters’ which are so gen- 
erally in operation.” 

“I thought as you do, Mrs. Cooper,” inter- 
posed Olive, with great animation, “ and felt 
a degree of jealousy for our dear circle, but I 
am sure both of us must have overlooked the 
explanations about the League that may have 
been in our Church papers. Then it is so 
very young, you know, only a few weeks in op- 
eration, that it has not attracted general atten- 
tion. Last night, however, Mr. Wilkinson,' 
who is enthusiastic on the subject, took spe- 
cial pains to win us to his opinions. He 
elaborated every point, and I think has reason 
to be content with his success thus far. Here 
are the little tracts on each of the departments 
of the League. I brought them to Annie to 
examine at her pleasure.” 

“How many departments are there?” 

“Three; and you will observe that the sec- 
ond is the only one similar to the designs of 
the ‘King’s Daughters,’ that is, as an organi- 
zation; of course as an individual Christian 
one’s aspiration embraces every duty to self, 
to neighbor, to Church and State. I am loyal 
to my circle of ‘King’s Daughters,’ indeed I 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


13 


am. 1 never expect to sever my connection 
with them or cease to assist in whatever they 
find to do — ” 

“ But it will be a case of not loving Caesar 
less, but Kome more?” 

“Somewhat. Loyalty to both is not incon- 
sistent with either, I am quite sure.” 

“ I hope it may prove so, Olive,” gently said 
Mrs. Dabney, “ for I also dearly love my cir- 
cle. Our sweet morning prayer can be used 
for both. Recite it, Annie. Let us observe 
that it is appropriate for workers of all names, 
for it breathes the spirit that should animate 
every true daughter of our King.” 

With low and reverent voice, Annie repeat- 
ed the prayer: 

“ Take me, Lord, and use me to-day as thou wilt. 
Whatever work thou hast for me to do, give it into my 
hand. If there are those thou wouldst have me help 
in any way, send them to me. Take my time and use 
it as thou wilt. Let me be a vessel close to thy hand, 
and meet for thy service, to be employed only for thee, 
and for ministry to others, ‘ In His Name.’ ” 

“Yes indeed,” approved Mrs. Cooper, “that 
can be an individual prayer for workers in 
any society, or in none, if circumstances so 
hedged one in.” 

“ But you have not told us the order of the 


14 


ANNIE COOPEIi’s FEIENDS. 


departments, Olive. I can read the little 
tracts later.” 

“ The first is that of ‘ Christian Effort.’ 
Not only to promote personal piety, but to 
engage in all the religious services of the 
League. The By-laws require that we hold a 
devotional meeting once a week, and our com- 
mittee last night decided that they shall be 
held at private houses, at least for awhile.” 

“I think that is wise,” remarked Mrs. Coop- 
er. “ Young people will feel less restrained in 
a parlor than in a church. They will more 
readily respond when requested to lead in 
prayer, and feel freer to speak or take any 
part in the meeting.” 

“I agree with you, Mrs. Cooper; our prayer 
meetings will be a sort of training school, as 
it vrere,.from which we can go out to assist in 
juvenile meetings of all kinds.” 

“The second department, you say, resembles 
more nearly the work of the ‘King’s Daugh- 
ters.’ ” 

“Yes; it is the ‘Department of Charity and 
Help.’ For the visitation of the sick, the 
needy, and strangers, systematically. Also to 
assist the pastor in all the charitable works of 
the congregation, and aid in collecting funds 
for charitable and Church purposes.” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


15 


“Admirable, my dear. I like that systemat- 
ic clause, and also the idea of the young being 
trained to aid their pastor. It draws them 
nearer together, lightens his burdens, and de- 
velops their characters in lines of earnestness 
and duty-doing.” 

“And now the third department, Olive, 
what is that?” 

“Very different from any other society to 
which any of us belong, that of ‘Literary 
Work.’ We are encouraged to study the 
Scriptures, systematically, Mrs. Cooper, as 
well as devotionally. Also the history, doc- 
trines, and polity of our Church; general 
Church history, too. Moreover, we must en- 
deavor to extend the circulation of the publi- 
cations and periodicals of our Church.” 

As Olive ceased to speak, Mrs. Cooper sat 
upright in her chair, her eyes brightening 
with feeling, as she said: “I beg the League’s 
pardon, and trust, girls, that you will forget 
the more than indifferent manner in which I 
greeted it upon its first introduction to this 
room. I should have known better, at my 
age, than to have regarded coldly the claims 
of that of which I knew so little. I am sur- 
prised that I have overlooked the notices of it 
heretofore, but I will make amends. The first 


16 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


and second departments might be embraced 
among the work of the older members of the 
Church, and the young people, if so inclined, be 
merged among their seniors, receiving bene- 
fit and training in the paths of piety and use- 
fulness. This, however, would be but a sub- 
stitute for the League, which is preferable, 
and has my hearty approval. The third de- 
partment has my unqualified admiration. 
For some years I have deplored the ignorance 
of the young people in regard to the history 
and doctrines of their Church, and indeed of 
the general Church history.” 

“ Has a course of reading been recommend- 
ed, Olive? ” 

“Yes, Annie; look on the last page of Tract 
No. 2, and you will see the list of books for 
the first year.” 

“Mother, shall I order a set at once from 
the Publishing House?” 

“Do BO to-day, Alice, and we will have a 
reading circle in this room as often as Annie 
desires it. Will you not join us, Olive?” 

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Cooper; and 
we will be glad to appoint a prayer meeting 
here for week after next, if Annie would like 
it.” 

“ Most certainly. I see the subject at that 


ANNIE cooper’s friends. 


17 


time, for the first week in May, is ‘Perfect 
Through Suffering.’ That is almost a coinci- 
dence. Certainly wonderfully appropriate for 
my patient child. I am glad you appointed 
that date.” 

“Now ‘let ns hear the conclusion of the 
whole matter,’ ” said Olive, as she rose to 
leave. “Our Epworth League is the very best 
for us as Methodists. \Ye will be loyal and 
faithful to it, and earnestly endeavor to do our 
utmost in all of its departments. But we can- 
not forsake our first love, our beloved ‘Ten’ 
of the ‘ King’s Daughters.’” 

“No indeed,” echoed Mrs. Dabney; “it is 
so sweet to meet with Christian women of all 
denominations, feeling that we are all working 
for our King; that we are striving to become 
‘all glorious within’ as his daughters should 
be; that, merging all shades of faith and pref- 
erences, we are banded together in home and 
foreign lands, ‘ In His Name.’ ” 

“It is a sacred Freemasonry,” said Mrs. 
Cooper. “The little Maltese cross, with the 
letters ‘I. H. N.,’ has girdled the world with 
its silver gleam, and wins its way to sisterly 
recognition from hearts that might not re- 
spond to any touch less universal and divine.” 

“Universal, yes,” whispered Annie; “to me 
2 


18 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


it is above all denominational distinctions. 
It is a badge of the holy Church universal in 
which we all believe, to which we all belong, 
the one fold to which so many flocks will gath- 
er when our Good Shepherd leads us all be- 
side the still waters in his heavenly pastures,” 


CHAPTEE II 


The books comprising the course of read- 
ing for the first year of the Epworth league 
arrived with the punctuality unvaryingly ob- 
served by the Publishing House. They were 
eagerly welcomed by all, and the reading had 
been carried on from day to day with exceeding 
interest. 

Let us read the books which are complete 
in one volume first,” Annie had said, as the 
package was unwrapped. “ I never enjoyed a 
serial, and know that when I have finished the 
first volume of Bishop McTyeire’s ‘History’ or 
‘ Scenes in Pioneer Methodism ’ I will not 
wish to wait till next year before again enjoying 
their instructive pages. I am sure the first 
volume will make me impatient for the sec- 
ond.” 

“ I offer an amendment to that — resolution 
shall I call it?” — said the systematic Mrs. 
Cooper. Let us read the ‘History ’ first, and 
we will be better able to appreciate the sur- 
roundings that exercised the formative power 

ri9) 


20 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FKIENDS. 


upon the lives and characters of Mr. Wesley 
and his followers. We can order the other 
volumes at once. The course is not ironclad, 
simply suggestive, you know.” 

“Certainly,” agreed Mrs. Dabney, “I like a 
course of reading to be so elastic that it will 
embrace collateral subjects — allow us to take 
little excursions, so to speak, on parallel by- 
paths, and then return to the prescribed 
route.” 

am quite sure the committee would be 
gratified if the selected course had the effect 
of so interesting us that we made it broader 
than its original limits.” 

“I do not doubt, Olive, that we will do 
that,” said Annie, who had been turning the 
leaves of the “ Heroines of Methodism ” with 
much attention; “but, mamma, as I have a 
strong fancy to read about our ‘Heroines’ at 
once, I will adopt your preliminary language, 
suggest a ‘ compromise measure,’ and ask that 
we wait till the second volume of Bishop Mc- 
Tyeire comes before we begin that, and in the 
meantime let us read the ‘Heroines.’ I would 
like to see what may be said about Dinah 
Morris. I enjoyed all that was told of her in 
‘Adam Bede’ so very much.” 

“What a beautiful character is drawn of 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


21 


her there I True in life, I doubt not; for she 
was a relative of the authoress.” 

“Yes; I recollect when I read it,” said Olive, 
“that grandmother told me that the sketch 
there given was truthfully portrayed, only she 
really did marry Seth Evans and not Adam 
Bede, his brother, as the story has it. Seth 
was a local preacher, and he and his wife 
founded Methodism in several towns and vil- 
lages. They frequently walked fifteen miles 
on Sunday to preach in neglected hamlets. 
They accomplished much good in every way, 
chiefly in winning souls to Christ. On her 
deathbed, her disease being a lingering one, 
it was said that her utterances were more 
eloquent and touching than they had ever 
been.” 

“I have always loved biography, and antic- 
ipate pleasure and profit in learning of these 
lives. Here is the book, mamma; we are 
ready for you to read.” 

No members of the League could have en- 
joyed the prescribed course more than did the 
circle in Annie Cooper’s room. They read 
intelligently and with increasing interest, oc- 
casionally diverging, as Mrs. Dabney had sug- 
gested, into bypaths of information which 
threw a clearer light upon the subject un- 


22 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FRIENDS. 


der consideration. The family had a fine li- 
brary, so contemporaneous history, encyclo- 
pedias, and helps of any kind were appealed 
to as inclination prompted. It had always 
been their custom to converse about the books 
they read, and they did not omit it in this 
case. 

“How deeply interesting it is, my dears,” 
remarked Mrs. Cooper one evening, “to read 
of the mothers of great men, either in sacred or 
profane history. While we take pleasure in 
studying the traits of Cornelia, the mother of 
the Gracchi, or Letitia Bonaparte, we dwell 
tenderly upon the love of Hannah, the faith- 
fulness of Lois and Eunice; we sympathize 
in the solicitude of Monica, the mother of St. 
Augustine, and rejoice with her in the answer 
to her prayers for the conversion of her so 
long wayward son; and so on down to Su- 
sanna Wesley, when we feel like exclaiming, 
‘Many daughters have done virtuously, but 
thou excellest them all ! ’ Think of her de- 
votion to her thirteen children, her wonder- 
ful influence over them through life, and her 
multiform other duties, all faithfully per- 
formed.” 

“ She assuredly would have been canonized 
had she been a Eomanist.” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


2B 


“Why, Olive, that is what we said of Mrs. 
Fletcher.** 

“And deservedly could have been said about 
many others.’* 

“ I am glad that Protestantism rejects all of 
that. We can admire and revere without en- 
rolling among the catalogue of saints.^’ 

“Especially when we are forced to fear 
that some receive the honor who do not de- 
serve it.” 

“We may accept those of Biblical times 
and the early Christian Church, but the des- 
ignation should end there, as do the days of 
miracles.” 

“But what shall we say, mamma,” asked 
Annie, “about Paul’s greeting in his Epis- 
tles to the ‘saints which are in Christ Jesus’ 
which are at Philippi, Colosse, and so on?” 

“Ah, that is very different; certainly they 
were not all canonized. In what respect, 
then, do you understand that they differed 
from the Churches of the present day?” 

“In true essentials there should be no dif- 
ference. I believe that if Paul was living and 
should write to the Churches, he would ad- 
dress us as ‘saints’ who are at each certain 
Church. Then we would deserve, or not, to be 
included in that appellation according as we 


24 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


were truly members of the household of 
faith.” 

“ It is a solemnizing thought that we should 
be addressed as ‘ saints,’ and that it is our 
privilege to be justly so styled.” 

“ Very, but not more so than are many other 
expressions Christ applied to his true follow- 
ers. What more intimate union than between 
the vine and the branches? ‘I have called 
ye friends.’ We are called children of God, 
joint heirs with Jesus Christ, the Lamb’s wife. 
Words cannot be more tender, no relationship 
more endearing than those which he uses to 
show his love to us, and to illustrate the in- 
timate, trustful connection he will grant us 
with himself.” 

It was one beautiful feature in the inter- 
course of this pious family that, so far from 
shunning topics of religion, they continually 
introduced and dwelt upon them. Endeavor- 
ing to obey the apostle’s injunction to think 
upon whatsoever things are true, honest, just, 
lovely, and of good report, they naturally 
spoke of what most engaged their thoughts. 
Consequently, the ground being occupied with 
good fruit, the briers of unprofitable conver- 
sation were choked and stunted. 

“Beally, I think,” said Mrs. Dabney, “that 


ANNIE COOPEK’s FEIENDS. 


25 


the lives of such women as Mrs. Wesley, 
Sarah Crosby, Mary Fletcher, and Grace 
Murray were ‘sainted.’ In different lines 
in some respects, in others very similar, 
they seem a continuation of the ‘Acts of 
the Apostles.’ ” 

“Will that record not be continued till the 
end of time?” gently asked Annie. “May we 
not consider Luke’s treatise to Theophilus as 
but the initial chapter to the volume? Suc- 
ceeding sections have not found place in the 
Scriptures, for no man shall add unto these 
things, but they have acted as inspiration to 
innumerable hosts who have passed into glory, 
are now pressing forward, and will to those 
who are yet to follow on.” 

“We have no reason to suppose that the 
lives of those consecrated women you have 
mentioned were any less holy or useful than 
those commended in the Old or New Testa- 
ments. Think of Mary Fletcher. Banished 
from her parents’ roof because of her reli- 
gious faith when but twenty-one years old, she 
established and maintained, with her private 
fortune, an orphanage for nineteen years. 
There training her thirty little beneficiaries 
with all the care and loving solicitude we 
might expect from her lovely nature, her es- 


26 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


tablishment radiated such an influence for 
good that Mr. Wesley spoke of it as a blessing 
to the country, showing forth the life and 
power of religion.” 

“ How forcible is the expression he used in 
describing her preaching: ‘Her words are as 
fire, conveying both light and heat to the 
hearts of all who hear her! ’ ” 

“ Would it not have been delightful to have 
lived in the parish of Madeley when Mr. 
Fletcher and his wife lived there? It was said 
to have been the ‘ saint! iest spot in England.’” 

“Such a long, useful life! About eighty, I 
think, when she died.” 

“And what self-denial! Twenty-five dollars 
for clothing annually, and nearly one thousand 
for charity!” 

“ Being dead, she still speaks to us,” added 
Mrs. Cooper. “ It is well to keep such as she 
and her coworkers in our memories to revere 
and imitate. They will certainly be held in 
everlasting remembrance, and shine as the 
stars forever and ever.” 

As Mrs. Dabney arose to return the book to 
its proper place, the reading for the day being 
ended, Olive addressed her, asking: “How is 
Mrs. Armstrong now? How does she bear the 
death of her sweet little baby? ” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 27 

“ Wonderfully. It lias been a most touch- 
ing and beautiful experience. All her friends 
are deeply impressed by it. You know she is 
quite young and was passionately devoted to 
it — her first child. The little thing was but 
five months old — pretty, bright, and healthy. 
He was sick but a little while. You remem- 
ber I sat up with him the night the Epworth 
League was organized. A day or two after 
we thought him much better; but one morn- 
ing when I was there, he was taken suddenly 
much worse, and died in a few moments. The 
shock was great to us all, but especially to 
poor Louise. She had been so elated at his 
apparent improvement, and is of such an af- 
fectionate, excitable, demonstrative temper- 
ament, that we feared the result upon her 
already overwrought nervous system. The 
little one died upon its grandmother’s lap. 
When Louise was convinced that its little 
spirit had fled, she clasped the dear frame to 
her bosom and kissed it vehemently, and then 
turned and left the room. Interpreting her 
action to mean that she desired to be alone, 
no one followed her immediately. Directly, 
liowever, her father, coming into the house, 
sought her, and to his amazement and grati- 
tude found her wonderfully sustained. Reach- 


28 


ANNIE COOFEE’s FRIENDS. 


ing out her arms to him lovingly, she cried: 
‘O papa, papa, am I feeling right? I am so 
absolutely resigned to God’s will that I am 
perfectly happy! ’ ” 

‘‘Wonderful indeed!” was Olive’s ejacula- 
tion, as Mrs. Dabney’s voice faltered and 
broke, and her eyes filled with tears. “ ‘As 
one whom his mother comforteth,’ such was 
the dear girl’s experience. Of course her 
tears flowed in torrents, her grief was very 
great, but it was sanctified, it was blessed, it 
was free from bitterness of rebellion and un- 
belief. And through her God spoke to us 
all. We were awed by the revelation of the 
Holy Spirit’s sustaining grace. Each one had 
a glimpse, as it were, into the joy that will be 
possessed by those who come out of great 
tribulation, when God shall wipe away all 
tears from their eyes.” 

“I wish that I knew her and had been 
there,” sighed Olive. 

“I wish that you had heard her father’s con- 
versation with her when the sweet one was 
robed for its burial. I felt, as never before, 
what it was for a man to be the priest in his 
owm house, ministering daily at its altar, and, 
as Goldsmith wrote, one who ‘ allured to 
brighter worlds and led the way.’ Mr. and 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FEIENDS. 


29 


Mrs. Martin, Louise’s parents, have seven 
grown children and a number of grandchil- 
dren. This is the first time death has invad- 
ed their circle. It was touchingly beautiful to 
see the sympathy, the oneness of feeling that 
existed among them all. Each sister mourned 
almost as if one of her little ones lay mute and 
still before her. Each little cousin showed a 
sisterly or brotherly affection as they stroked 
the tiny hands or rearranged the flowers that 
were lavishly strewn around its couch. The 
words. 

Thy valley of shadow, Death, 

Is beautiful to-day, 

came unbidden to my lips.” 

“I thought,” said Mrs. Cooper, “that the 
text their pastor selected was exquisitely ten- 
der and suitable. * I never had heard it used 
before. ‘My beloved is gone down into his 
garden . . . to gather lilies.’ ” 

“I stopped yesterday afternoon,” resumed 
Mrs. Dabney, “to see Louise, and she repeated 
many of the sweet, consoling words that Dr. 
Wilson had deduced from the text. She said, 
also, that when driving to the cemetery he re- 
marked to her father, ‘It has often happened 
that a little one thus cut down performed real- 
ly a great mission in its short life and in its 


30 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


dying.’ ‘I wonder if it will be so with my lit- 
tle Arthur? ’ I told her that we already could 
perceive that. It was a great work to be the 
cause of God’s being glorified, and her baby 
had done that in his dying; the sustaining 
grace that had been granted to her had led all 
her friends to praise and magnifiy her Lord. 
Then she called my attention to a mite box, or 
missionary bank, upon the mantel. ‘ That is 
my baby’s,’ she said; ‘his papa and I would 
drop small pieces of money in it, and then rat- 
tle it to please him. We wished him to asso- 
ciate the missionary cause and the privilege 
of giving with his earliest memories. How 
we did anticipate explaining it all to him 
when he was old enough to understand; but 
now — O my baby, my baby! ’ Presently she 
continued: ‘The day after the funeral I took 
it down and said that I would put it aside; we 
had no use for it now. Dear papa touched 
my hand: “Do not say so; put it back. It 
can be of more use now than ever. Hereto- 
fore only you and Charles dropped your offer- 
ings in it; henceforth let our entire family 
consider it our memorial casket. Give us all 
the pleasure of assisting in filling it. Our in- 
terest will be greater than ever before in the 
cause, the furthering of which was the object 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


31 


o£ our ascending Lord’s last injunction to his 
disciples. Our gifts mil be larger. So will 
our little Arthur’s short life and early death 
be the means of knitting our family still clos- 
er together in love and sympathy, and eternity 
may reveal ransomed spirits from heathen 
lands in bliss forever because of him.” ’ ” 


CHAPTEE III. 


The evening appointed for the prayer meet- 
ing of the Epworth League to be held in 
Annie Cooper’s room had come. The patient 
invalid, who was unable to attend meetings 
elsewhere, had anticipated the occasion as 
many other girls of her age would have done 
entertainments of a far different nature. 

The first to arrive was her pastor, Mr. Wil- 
kinson, who took the opportunity of paying a 
pastoral call before the hour set for opening 
the services. It was his first year at St. Pe- 
ter’s charge, and but four months of the year 
had passed, so he was not yet as thoroughly 
acquainted with his flock as he desired to be. 
Still young, and in full sympathy with the 
young, he hailed the ‘‘League” as “filling a 
Jong felt want,” and had entered into it with 
enthusiasm, hoping that through its means he 
would win the hearts and confidence of all his 
young membership. For this he prayed often 
and earnestly; and coming from his closet di- 
rect to Mrs. Cooper’s house, the glow of his 
devotions was still warm upon his heart as he 
( 32 ) 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


33 


clasped Annie’s hand in bis and took bis seat 
beside ber. 

Glancing iflto bis face, Annie felt that sub- 
tle attraction to wbat is good and pure, a 
conviction of bis perfect. sincerity, and but 
few sentences were exchanged before they bad 
drifted into a conversation about those bidden 
things of God that are unintelligible to all 
whose eyes are dim to see wbat is spiritually 
discerned. When Mr. Wilkinson paid a pas- 
toral call, he desired to make it distinctively 
so. He was not satisfied with having a surface 
acquaintance with his people. It was the 
burning wish of bis heart to help them in 
their soubgrowth; if sluggish, to arouse them 
to activity; if indifferent, to win them to inter- 
est; if they were dwelling in green pastures, 
he wished to walk with them there. How 
could he break ^he bread of life aright and 
give to each his due portion, if he knew not 
the degree of hunger of those who listened to 
him as he stood in his place each Sabbath- 
day ? He felt that he was an under shepherd 
of that Good One, and like him he wished to 
know his sheep, so that more effectually he 
might lead them and protect them from the 
destroying wolves that watch for the unwary. 

So when their tete-a-tete was over, Annie felt 
3 


34 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


that even if the prayer meeting had been post- 
poned she had still enjoyed a delightful class- 
meeting, to all intents and purposes: an old- 
time class meeting, such as dear Mrs. F^tch- 
er, Grace Murray, and Dinah Evans led and 
enjoyed, not much observed now, but still 
loved and found profitable by many who fear 
the Lord and speak often to one another, feel- 
ing as David did when he exclaimed, “ Come 
and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will de- 
clare what he hath done for my soul! ” 

But the young people had assembled, and 
after singing and prayer Mr. Wilkinson stood 
with his open Bible in his hand. He read the 
appointed portions for the evening, Hebrews 
ii. 9-11, and 1 Peter v. 10, 11, and then said: 
“My young friends, as you know, the subject 
for our prayerful thought is ‘ Perfect Through 
Suffering.’ In glancing around and seeing so 
many youthful faces, only a few that have 
reached middle life, but few who are dressed 
in sable garments, all apparently in perfect 
health, with the exception of our young sister 
here, I fear you may conclude that the subject 
is one not specially suited to this company. 
In casting the eye over the topics selected for 
the future consideration of our League, I see 
many that you perhaps would prefer, thinking 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


35 


them better adapted to your age, your tastes, 
your needs. Let us remember, however, that 
all Scripture is profitable; moreover, let" me 
assure you that the time will sarely come when 
the recollections of the lesson taught this even- 
ing may be a comfort and blessing to you be- 
yond your present imagining. ‘Prepare me, 
O Lord, for what thou art preparing for me,’ 
was a prayer of the sainted Miss Havergal, in 
which we may well unite. That petition is 
not confined, though, let me say in passing, to 
what of future suffering we may be called to 
endure, but it equally applies to seasons of 
happiness and opportunities for service.” 

Then in few words Mr. Wilkinson touched 
upon the mystery of Christ’s sufferings — 

The loneliness, the weariness, the strife, 

The base return. 

The passion and the cross. 

And the withdrawal of his Father’s face — 

“A mystery which waits for explanation until 
that time when all that is veiled in God’s 
dealings with us, in this life, is ended, and we 
can claim the promise, which is strength and 
solace to the faithful, ‘ What I do thou know- 
est not now,’ but thou shalt know hereafter.’ 
Now let us turn to our Bibleg and read the 


36 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


passages illustrating this subject. Miss Olive, 
will you give us your selection?” 

“ The passage which has most thrilled my 
heart, Mr. Wilkinson, is Paul’s vivid compar- 
ison, found in Eomans viii. 18: ‘For I reckon 
that the sufferings of this present time are not 
worthy to be compared with the glory which 
shall be revealed in us.’ ” 

Then followed an interesting Bible reading, 
accentuated by discriminating comments from 
Mr. Wilkinson. This feature of the meeting 
he conducted with so much sanctified tact — 
the expression is deliberately chosen, for he 
prayed specially for the gift, the grace it im- 
plies — that he successfully won a number of 
the circle to give utterance to their thoughts 
or propound questions which indicated the 
interest that had been aroused. 

“Now, dear friends,” he continued, “I hope 
you have remembered my request, that if in 
the course of your reading the past week you 
have met with anything illustrative of the 
subject, you will please give us the benefit of 
it. It is wonderful how often when our 
thoughts are occupied with some theme, con- 
cordant topics present themselves in reading 
or conversation, perhaps come unbidden from 
the stores of n\emory. May we not believe 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


37 


they are often brought to our remenibrance by 
that Holy Spirit which is sent to teach us all 
things?” 

“Mr. Wilkinson,” rapidly spoke a young 
man, “I agree with an extract I read from an 
old writer who condemned David’s evident 
longing to escape the sufferings of his life, 
when he gave utterance to such expressions as 
this: ‘I would hasten my escape from the 
windy storm and tempest.’ He thought it would 
have been more honorable for him to have 
asked for the strength of an ox to bear his 
trials, than for the wings of a dove to flee 
from them. He counseled against such un- 
worthy and ungrateful feelings; asked if when 
we are happy and prosperous we desire to 
flee away; charged us to look at our blessings 
and remember the hidden uses of adversity, 
and how quickly surprising changes may take 
place in our condition.” 

In a low tone Mrs. Dabney repeated the 
closing verses of Cowper’s exquisite hymn: 

“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. 

But trust him for his grace ; 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast. 

Unfolding ev’ry hour: 


38 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 

And scan his work in vain: 

God is his own interpreter. 

And he will make it plain.” 

“ I derive great comfort from the motto on 
a simple little bookmark which has kept the 
place in my Bible for many years,” said Miss 
Kate Clifton, the devoted Sunday school 
teacher of many of the girls present; “a de- 
vice familiar to you all: a crown surmount- 
ing a cross, and the words, ‘No cross, no 
crown.’ I often lose myself in the thoughts 
which it suggests, and rejoice that the crown 
is promised not to those who escape, but to 
those who endure, temptations.” 

“And indeed, my dear sister,” said her pas- 
tor, “temptations are among the greatest suf- 
ferings we can be called upon to endure. They 
are perhaps the only tribulation that some of 
the white-robed throng have passed through. 
Ah, young soldiers, if you successfully com- 
bat temptations without and within, other 
sufferings will be more easily borne, and each 
of you will win the prize in that illustrious 
day.” 

“ Brother Wilkinson,” it was Mrs. Cooper 


ANNIE COOPEIl’S FRIENDS. 


39 


who spoke, “I am too old to belong to your 
League, but I wish to read something to these 
young people. It is a contribution to the al- 
bum of my girlhood, written by a friend very 
much older than myself, when I was no older 
than the youngest girl present. I cannot tell 
how many times it has helped me in the past. 
I cherish it still. It was recalled to me by the 
words of Miss Clifton that the crown is prom- 
ised not to those who escape, but who endure, 
temptation. Here it is;” and opening a large 
old-fashioned album, rich in papier-mache 
cover, tinted paper, paintings, drawings, and 
original contributions from many friends, Mrs. 
Cooper read: 

“ I do not wish for you a life of unclouded happiness 
• — an unattainment. In each one’s pilgrimage duties 
are to be met, sacrifices made, and sufferings endured 
which will wring from the eyes and heart little drops 
of anguish. The crown of thorns, the agony of, Geth- 
semane, the scourge and cross, are significant facts in 
every experience. Toils and tears, struggles and sor- 
rows, cares and calamities, are the common lot. But 
this is no reason for despair, nor even for despondency. 
It is but for a moment. TVe live for hereafter. Our 
home is in heaven.’ Afflictions rightly viewed and 
rightly received are mercies to chasten the heart, refine 
the soul, and win us from earth to God. All whom 
John saw before the throne and before the Lamb had 
come out of great tribulation. What mattered to them 


40 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


the troubles, however great, for a few brief days, when 
housed amid such glorious beatitudes forever. There 
is a faith which connects providence with every 
event and gives content; there are graces from the 
Holy Spirit of God which strengthen, sustain, soothe, 
and sanctify under all circumstances. May these be 
yours ! I wish for you a life in Christ.” 

As Mrs. Cooper’s voice died away, Mrs. 
Dabney almost involuntarily turned to the 
parlor organ by wbicb she sat and began to 
sing Charles Wesley’s beautiful hymn, “ What 
are these arrayed in white?” At once the 
room was filled with melody, the spirits of all 
soaring with their voices in that chant of an- 
ticipative triumph. 

“Brother Alfred Cooper,” said the pastor, 
“ pray with us that we may all gather around 
that eternal throne.” 

All felt that in their midst was He who 
promised his presence whenever even two or 
three are gathered in his name. Thank God, 
it does not need the rushing, mighty wind or 
cloven tongue of fire to attend or attest the 
visits of the Spirit of God! He is heard in 
the still, small voice, both in the secrecy of 
one’s closet and in the communion of saints. 

“Perhaps there are still others who have 
interesting thoughts to give us,” said Mr. 
Wilkinson. “ Our time is not yet spent.” 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FKIENDS. 


41 


“ It has occurred to me,” sad Claude Stan- 
ley, “that we have been considering suffering 
as specially intended for our welfare. It can 
also be designed for the welfare of others, 
and thus glorify God in us and by us. Think 
of the many Bible characters; the noble army 
of martyrs, not only those brought to our no- 
tice in the eleventh chapter of Hebrews, not 
only in the life of St. Paul who was ‘chosen’ to 
suffer great things for the sake of Jesus’ name, 
but coming down, down to the present day.” 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Wilkinson, “for an 
example here is our young sister,” gently 
touching the arm of Annie’s chair. “Why 
wait till she has j6ined the angels to say how 
much her patient submission to God’s will, 
her cheerfulness, her increasing interest and 
activity in all things relating to the service of 
God and the good of her fellow-creatures, serve 
as an example and stimulus to us. Nay,” he 
continued, as the deepening color in Annie’s 
face bespoke her embarrassment, “ this is not 
idle praise — the subject is too serious; it is, 
however, that we ‘thank God upon every re- 
membrance of you,’ and magnify the grace he 
has made sufficient for your days of weariness 
and nights of pain. Can you not tell us what 
suffering has done for you?” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


42 _ 


With much effort Annie composed herself, 
and replied: “Let me repeat some passages 
from Ugo Bessy’s ‘Sermon in the Hospital.’ 
They express my feelings in more appropriate 
words than I can command: 

‘ We suffer! Why we suffer — that is hid 
With God’s foreknowledge in the clouds of heaven. 
The first book written sends that human cry 
Out of the clear Chaldean pasture lands 
Down forty centuries — and no answer yet 
Is found, nor will be found, while yet we live 
In limitations of humanity. 

Let us take heed in time, 

That God may now be glorified in us ; 

And while we suffer, let us set our souls 
To suffer perfectly : since this alone. 

The suffering, which ‘is this world’s special grace, 
May here be perfected and left behind. 

For each and all of life, 

In every phase of action, love and joy, 

There is fulfillment only otherwhere; 

But here, and here alone, 

Is given us to suffer for God’s sake. 

In other worlds we shall more perfectly 
Serve him and love him. 

Praise him and work for him, 

Grow nearer and nearer him with all delight; 

But then we shall not any more be called 
To suffer, which is our appointment here. 

It were not hard to suffer by his hand 
If we could see his face. 

Yet not by sight, but faith. 

Endure, endure — 

Be faithful to the end.’ ” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIEN]5s. 


43 


As Annie became absorbed in her recita- 
tion, looking straight forward, as if forgetful 
of the company around, her large gray eyes 
grew luminous with feeling, and her intona- 
tions so slow and earnest that the friends who 
knew her best felt that they had received a 
fresh insight into her inner being. A solemn 
silence ensued, broken only by the fervent and 
almost whispered “Amen” of their pastor. 
Then he arose and said: “I will relate the 
history of one whom I know and love well, 
who still lives, having passed through bereave- 
ments such as I pray God none here present 
may ever experience. Over forty years ago a 
family moved from this State to Texas. It 
was composed of the father and mother, six 
sons and daughters, the husband of one of the 
daughters, and their four children. They car- 
ried with them about eighty negroes. One 
son had preceded them to their anticipated 
home, had made a provision crop, and built 
houses for the family and their servants. 
While crossing the Gulf of Mexico, the yellow 
fever appeared, and one or two of their serv- 
ants sickened. They pressed forvrard with all 
speed, as they hoped, to health and home; 
but alas! the poison was in their veins, and in 
two weeks from the day tlmy reached their 


44 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


destination more than half of their servants 
had died, and the married daughter had closed 
the eyes of father, mother, husband, her four 
children, and every sister and brother, except 
the one who had looked forward to their ar- 
rival with so much joy! Broken-hearted, they 
buried their dead out of their sight, tufted 
their backs upon, to them, that land of deso- 
lation, and retraced their steps eastward, 
where friends and sympathy awaited them. I 
thought of this case when Miss Annie spoke 
of that cry of suffering that went up from the 
‘Chaldean pasture lands ’ four thousand years 
ago; for, like Job, this bereaved mother had 
lost all her children, and in addition, husband, 
parents, sisters, and brothers. Can we won- 
der if she cried, ‘Is any grief like unto my 
grief?’ But time passed on — time, but for 
whose - healing influences this world would 
seem but a vast necropolis, with mourners 
clad in sackcloth ever wailing over bitter 
memories. Time passed on, and the God who 
turned again the captivity of Job blessed her • 
also. She again rested in a husband’s tender 
love; again and yet again she felt the pressure 
of infant arms around her neck; once more 
the prattle of little children made music in 
her heart; with thrills of gratitude did she 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


45 


fold tlieir soft hands upon her knees, teaching 
them to lisp their Saviour’s name, and afresh 
did she continually consecrate them to his 
service. Her chastened spirit welled forth in 
love and thankfulness to the Giver of her re- 
newed life and happiness, testified by deeds. of 
daily charity and mercy. I often think as I 
look into her beloved face (you remember I 
said that I knew and loved her well) — I often 
think of the figure in Malachi of our Lord’s 
sitting as a refiner and purifier of silver. 
You know upon what the illustration is 
founded. The refiner of silver is patient. 
He sits and waits till in the crucible the dross 
is all consumed and the purification is com- 
plete. The proof of this is that his image is 
reflected in the pure and molten treasure, free 
from all alloy. So as I look into my mother’s 
face I see the work of the great Eefiner. I 
see his image reflected in the soul that looks 
out of mother’s eyes. Now our dear young 
sister told us that on earth alone could we 
suffer for our Lord. Let us remember that, 
and try when suffering is sent to us to ‘ suffer 
perfectly,’ saying, ‘ Not my will, but thine, O 
God, be done.’ One other thing we do on 
earth that we will not do in heaven, and that 
is use hymns expressing the needs of our 


46 ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS.^ 

humanity. Thank God for that: we will be 
abova and beyond it all; but while we are 
here, thank God also for the dear old hymns 
that so beautifully voice our every shade of 
feeling. O how I love their authors! When I 
get to heaven, I want to thank Charles Wesley 
for ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul,’ and Toplady 
for ‘Eockof Ages,’ and Watts and Cowper and 
Perronet, as well as Misses Havergal and 
Fanny Crosby, for the help and joy that they 
have been to me. Time fails me here, but it 
will not there, to remember them all and offer 
them my gratitude. In the meantime, let us 
not be too introspective. We should look out- 
ward and forward and upward. Our songs 
should often, far oftener than they do, soar, 
as it were, on eagle’s wings far up to the Sun 
of righteousness, and absorb the light and 
warmth of his glory. Let us sing God’s 
praises more on earth, so will we be practicing 
for heaven. 

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow ; 

Praise him, all creatures here below ; 

Praise him above, ye heavenly host ; 

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” 


CHAPTEE IV. 


The next morning, according to appoint- 
ment, Miss Kate Clifton called for Mrs. 
Dabney to accompany her to the regular 
monthly meeting of the ‘^King’s Daughters.” 
She had in her hand a package, of letters 
which attracted the attention of Annie, who, 
with the allowed familiarity of intimacy, 
pointed to them and, with uplifted eyebrows, 
uttered the query: “Circulars?” 

“Not exactly, though very much on that 
order. The contents are almost identical. 
They are letters I have written, by request, to 
the ministers in various places in Texas, New 
Mexico, and Oklahoma. Poor Mrs. Farmer is 
in despair about her son, her only child, from 
whom she has not heard for months.” 

“You surprise me, Kate. The last time I 
spoke with her, he had sent her money; and 
she V7as happy in that fact, and still more so 
that it indicated remembrance of her and, she 
hoped, honest work.” 

“That was before Christmas, Alice. She 

( 47 ) 


4S 


ANNIE cooper’s ERIENDS 


has written to him repeatedly, and received 
no reply. So in desperation the thought oc- 
curred to her to send letters to be read aloud 
in congregations of towns where he has been 
known to be, if possibly he, or some one 
who knows him, may hear of it, and she may 
get on his track in that way.” 

“Has he ever been to Oklahoma?” 

“No; but before he ceased writing to her, 
he expressed a desire to go there. He is of 
such a roaming nature it is very probable that 
he is on the outskirts of civilization.” 

“Not only that, Miss Kate,” said Alfred 
Cooper, who was present, “but he is dodging 
officers of the law, I have no doubt. If he is, 
it will be by no means the first time. He is a 
bad boy — has always been. I have known 
him as a street gamin since he was a little fel- 
low, and always in trouble. I think letters to 
chiefs of police would be more apt to bring 
information than the ones you have written. 
If you wish it, I will write them for you.” 

“Thank you, but we will try these first. 
His mother indulges the hope that one of 
them may be successful. She says he is so 
fond of singing that he goes to church often 
for the pleasure of hearing the music and 
joining in it.” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


49 


“ Indeed! AVell, let us know if you receive 
a satisfactory reply. I hope you may.” 

“I hope so. Poor old woman, she has 
worked hard all her life; and now that her 
health has failed, it is sad indeed that her son 
has deserted her.” 

The meeting which Miss Clifton and Mrs. 
Dabney attended that day was especially im- 
portant. A few months before the idea of 
establishing a hospital under the auspices of 
the “ King’s Daughters ” had been suggested. 
It 'was thought that if every band in the or- 
ganization would pledge its assistance the en- 
terprise might be undertaken. The plan had 
been cordially indorsed, and the heartiest co- 
operation followed. Some of the circles had 
pledged a certain amount of money monthly, 
which would be used to pay the rent of the 
building and salaries of the matron and her 
assistants; others had become responsible for 
various necessary expenses, and still others 
had promised to furnish a bed completely, to 
select the beneficiary which should occupy it, 
and supply all that would be needed. As 
soon as the undertaking was determined upon, 
physicians tendered their services gratis, be- 
nevolent persons hastened to offer their aid. 
Provisions of various kinds and in different 
4 


50 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


quantities were promised as monthly gifts. 
Articles of furniture were donated, and at the 
appointed day the hospital was opened and de- 
clared ready for patients. It had been a 
pleasant sight to see ladies, old and young, 
contemplating their work. The house, fresh- 
ly renovated, was clean and sweet everywhere. 
The snowy beds, each with its small table be- 
side it upon which was placed a Bible and 
a glass of flowers; the simply draped win- 
dows; the inexpensive but comfortable easy- 
chairs for convalescents — all spoke of rest and 
comfort. The dining room and kitchen had 
every requisite appointment. The well-filled 
pantry showed a generous proportion of home- 
made delicacies, as the ladies had drawn upon 
their family stores for this first abundant sup- 

ply- 

Now a month had passed, and those inter- 
ested had met to receive the reports of the 
secretary and treasurer, to learn of the expe- 
rience, and have that admirable but often se- 
vere teacher approve their methods— per- 
chance modify or reverse them. The reports 
were encouraging in the extreme, the finances 
were in a satisfactory condition, the matron 
had proved herself worthy of the encomiums 
which had caused her to be selected for the 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


51 


position, and most of tlie cots were occupied, 
which showed how great the need had been 
for the establishment of the hospital, as well as 
the diligence of the ‘‘circles’’ in seeking out 
the suffering and needy. Many incidents 
were related evincing the gratitude of the 
beneficiaries or the blessings flowing back into 
the hearts of the “ Daughters,” the narration 
of some causing mingled tears and laughter. 

At the close of the meeting our two friends 
walked to the hospital to visit the patient who 
now occupied the bed that the “circle” espe- 
cially cared for. They found her sitting up, 
almost free of pain, resting in her easy-chair 
knitting diligently. 

“We are glad to see you better to-day, Mrs. 
Allen,” said Mrs. Clifton. 

“Yes, ma’am, thank you. I know I’m im- 
proving faster, because it is so nice and quiet 
here. Before you brought me to this sweet 
place, I had no rest day nor night, so many 
people lived in the house where my sister 
rented two rooms. What with the crying 
babies, and quarreling, and sometimes fight- 
ing, a poor sick body had a hard time. My 
sister did all she could for me, but she had to 
go to her work early and late. Her husband 
was good too, and bought everything for me 


52 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS, 


he could afford, but he is a poor laboring man 
with a large family. When I have my health, 
I am no burden to them, for I work too. I 
can do up lace curtains, wash flannels, and 
sponge over gentlemen’s clothes as good as 
anybody can; but I had been sick for six weeks 
when you ladies came to see me, and I will al- 
ways be grateful to you for bringing me here.” 

“I am glad,” said Mrs. Dabney, “that I 
asked your little niece if all were well at home, 
as we passed together out of the door at our 
mission Sunday school. Her reply; ‘All but 
aunty,’ led to questions and answers that 
ended in my coming to see you.” 

“Don’t say ‘ended;’ that was the beginning 
of it rather, for here I have been three weeks, 
and up already, with only a slight pain in my 
side. I know if you had not brought me here 
I’d have been sick still — maybe dead. It is 
the quiet and the peace and rest of mind that 
help me so.” 

“ I do not doubt it,” assented Mrs. Dabney. 

“And getting rid of the feeling of the 
trouble and expense you are giving your 
friends, and calculating over and over again 
what the doctor’s bill will be. Then the food 
I had wasn’t flxed up like ’tis here, and I do 
believe ” — with an air of surprised con vie- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


53 


tion, as if the idea was a new and wonderful 
discovery of her own, unheard of before — “I 
do believe when folks are sick what they eat can 
help them get well as surely as the medicine.” 

“‘Kitchen physic’ is the best part of the 
prescription when one is convalescent, Mrs. 
Allen; so I have acted upon my opinion and 
brought you this lunch,” and Miss Clifton un- 
covered a small basket, disclosing delicacies, to 
which Mrs. Allen made no pretense of appear- 
ing indifferent. 

“I am afraid I will get well faster than I 
want to, if you treat me so kindly,” said the 
grateful woman; “but I have had my time of 
rest and good luck, so I s’pose it’s fair for 
some one else to get into my place when I am 
well enough to leave. Ladies, you ought to 
thank God for putting it into your hearts to 
fix up this hospital. I was reading the twenty- 
fifth chapter of Matthew this morning, and I 
thought of the ladies who had prepared this 
place for the sick and strangers, and that 
while they were doing that the Lord, who had 
said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
of the least of these my brethren, ye have done 
it unto me,’ was preparing a place for them.” 

“Let us peep in on Mrs. Blount and her 
little boy,” said Mrs. Dabney after they had 


54 


ANNIE COOPEli’s FEIENDS. 


taken leave of Mrs. Allen. “She is devoted 
in her attentions to him.” 

Crossing the hall, they rapped on the oppo- 
site door, and obeying the summons to “ come 
in,” they entered a room which showed that 
the pleasure and entertainment of the inmate 
was most kindly considered. Pictures, toys, 
flowers, and fruit were on bed and table, while 
the recipient of these gifts, a little boy about 
six years of age, sat propped up in bed, his 
left arm in a sling, but absorbed in a game 
of jackstraws he was playing with a lady who 
sat beside him. 

“ We thought we would find you here. You 
come every day, do you not? ” 

^^Yes,” replied Mrs. Blount; “Jimmie gets 
tired looking at pictures and playing by him- 
self, so I come often to entertain him, and 
leave him these other amusements to fall back 
upon in my absence. I intended to stay but 
a few moments this morning, and then come 
to the monthly meeting, but I found the little 
fellow restless and in some pain. His arm 
had troubled him in the night, the nurse told 
me, and he had slept but little, so I could not 
bear to leave him till I had soothed his nerv- 
ousness.” 

The ladies chatted over the incidents of the 


ANNIE COOPER'S FRIENDS. 55 

meeting and other business connected with 
their own ^‘circle” ot “King’s Daughters,” 
till little Jimmie, lulled by the hum of voices, 
fell into a profound slumber. 

“How was he brought to your notice, Mrs. 
Blount?” asked Miss Clifton. 

“I was passing his home about two weeks 
ago, and saw him sitting in the second-story 
window, very carelessly rocking to and fro. 
Just as I was about to exclaim a word of cau- 
tion, he lost his balance, and fell almost at 
my feet. It is surprising that he was not 
killed, but, with the exception of a number of 
bruises, his broken arm was the chief injury. 
Of course I entered the room into which he 
was carried. Its look of discomfort at once 
decided me to request his father, who soon 
appeared upon the scene, to allow me to have 
him carried to our hospital. He readily con- 
sented, for he is a widower, with no other 
children, a day-laborer, and confessed he did 
not know how to ‘do for’ children. I heard 
the little fellow was rapidly getting a street 
education, the father’s business keeping him 
employed until long after dark.” 

“As you had selected a child’s bed for your 
individual care, it was natural for you to wish 
to bring him to it.” 


50 ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 

“Yes; I desire to regard this bed in a me- 
morial light — the benefaction of my little boy, 
who, if he had lived, would have been about 
the age of this little Jimmie. I decided in my 
own mind that I would never have it occupied 
by a child over ten years of age, or perhaps I 
should say I would greatly prefer that; for 
certainly I could not let it remain empty if 
older ones needed the charity it secures. But 
I feel as if I want each little occupant in turn 
to receive my services for my baby’s sake. 
Don’t misunderstand me, my friends: I hum- 
bly trust I am moved by the purest motive 
that constraineth us to right living and right 
doing — the love of Christ — and the motto of 
our order, ‘In His Name,’ upon which our 
hospital is founded, is the impulse of my life; 
but I see no inconsistency in associating this 
special work in which I am now engaged with 
the tender memories of my lost little one. 
You remember, Mrs. Dabney, , the rebellion 
that possessed me when God took him, and 
how the knowledge of your sweet young sis- 
ter’s submission in her lifelong affliction 
aroused me to a sense of the enormity of my 
sinful frame of mind? O how I have been 
blessed since I was brought to say sincerely, 
‘Thy will be done.’ My blessings are greatest 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


67 


when consoling the bereaved. I have felt in 
the depths of my heart the meaning of these 
words: ‘The God of all comfort; who comfort- 
eth ns in all our tribulation, that we may be 
able to comfort them which are in any trouble, 
by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are 
comforted of God.’ ” 

Mrs. Dabney clasped the hand which un- 
consciously, in the earnestness of the speaker, 
had been laid upon her lap. She could well 
sympathize with her friend, for in her young 
widowhood she had proved the tenderness of 
the ‘God of all comfort,’ and had imparted 
freely of that comfort to the sorrowing. 

“ Since I have been caring for Jimmie here,” 
resumed Mrs. Blount, “I have wondered if 
his mother — who I understand was a pious 
woman — and my little Ernest see us and 
know of our intimate connection, our mutual 
advantage. These things we can only specu- 
late about; we must wait till the great here- 
after before we ‘shall know.’ I have come 
from my baby’s grave, since I have been cher- 
ishing Jimmie for his sake, with thrills of de- 
lightful anticipation. He may not now know 
what his mother is doing, but when I see him 
again I will tell him all.” 

“ How exquisite the thought of the myriads 


58 


ANNIE COOPEll’S FRIENDS. 


of infants in heaven!” said Mrs. Dabney. 
“ Their brief claim to humanity left no scar 
or stain of sin on their pure souls, yet their 
joyous anthems of praise are given to Him 
who let them pass through this world, as it 
were, so that they may be numbered among 
the redeemed from every land.” 

“ It must seem to them,” added Miss Clif- 
ton, “as if heaven is their native land; they 
can have no recollection of their short stay 
here. Their thoughts and language are all 
molded by the associations of paradise. What 
a blissful experience! ” 

“I wish my baby to have an added joy,” re- 
sumed Mrs. Blount, “ that of knowing because 
he did live in this world in which his Saviour 
lived and died others have cause to rejoice at 
that fact. This memorial work will let us re- 
joice together in heaven as no other kind can. 
If God allows me to carry out my design, 
Jimmie will be the first of many I wish to re- 
move from their unfavorable surroundings to 
these pleasant conditions so conducive to res- 
toration of sick and wounded bodies; and then 
the ‘ alV that I wish to tell my baby I have 
done because of him is not merely caring for 
the physical wants of the children, but for 
their souls as well. Can I sit day after day 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


59 


by a neglected little one and not tell it the 
sweet story of a Saviour’s love; not endeavor 
to instill into its young mind pure and lofty 
principles to be the foundation of its future 
character? Can I become deeply interested 
in each child, viewing my relation with it as 
a providential opportunity to teach and train 
it, and then when it leaves this house dismiss 
it from all further efPorts and solicitude? 
Rather, shall I not follow it to manhood with 
my interest, influence, and prayers?” 

“ We will hope in the future, which we com- 
mit to Him who doeth all things well, that you 
will find your seed-sowing has prospered and 
your harvesl is abundant.” 

“And I will add to Mrs. Dabney’s hope,” 
said Miss Clifton, “the wish that you may be 
able to present each rescued one to our Sav- 
iour, at last, saying: ‘Here am I, and all these 
children thou hast given me.’ ” 


CHAPTEE Y. 


Mrs. Dabney had spent the night a few 
miles from the city with an old friend of her 
mother’s. Mrs. Eussell’s beautiful cottage 
home was a point of attraction to all her city 
friends. The profusion of flowers, the choice 
fruit in season, the cordial welcome and cheery 
company of its mistress were the prominent 
charms the “Sunnybank.” Eeturning to the 
city on an early train, Mrs. Dabney stopped in 
a fancy store to make a purchase. There she 
was met by Miss Clifton, who, while admiring 
the exquisite daisies in the hands of her friend, 
inquired after the health of Mrs. Eussell. 

“She is well, Kate,” was the reply, “but 
somewhat perplexed in mind. She is anxious 
to pay a visit to her son who lives in Califor- 
nia,, but is at a loss how to dispose of beauti- 
ful ‘Sunnybank’ during her absence.” 

“She can easily rent it.” 

“ Certainly. But would the renter take the 
loving care of her fruit and flowers that she 
does? That is the problem that puzzles her. 
Eemember every tree and shrub is a pet with 
( 60 ) 


ANNIE COOPEK’S FRIENDS. 


61 


her. She can hardly hope to receive her 
premises in their present condition, when sbe 
returns from her Western trip, probably two 
years from now.” 

“I \^dsh my music lessons did not forbid. 
I would enjoy above all things living there, 
but I am not free to do what I would like,” 
said Miss Clifton, looking at her watch. “I 
have an engagement now, and must hurry off.” 

As Mrs. Dabney turned to the counter to 
match the zephyr in her hand, the tall, fair 
girl who had been patiently awaiting her 
pleasure said with a slight blush: ^‘I could 
not avoid hearing your conversation wdiile 
standing here, but I have noticed also your 
badge, with the letters ‘I. H. N.’ declaring 
that we are daughters of the same King,” 
touching her own little cross; “so I am em- 
boldened to ask you more particularly about 
the lady of whom you were speaking.” 

“Certainly,” was the pleasant answer, “I 
will be glad to tell you.” 

“I knew it,” was the simple acknowledg- 
ment, with a smile so winning and confiding 
that Mrs. Dabney felt at once prepossessed in 
her favor. “ I particularly wish to know, for 
as you spoke a plan occurred to me, and al- 
ready I find myself eager to attempt it,” 


62 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Encouraged by Mrs. Dabney’s words and 
look of interest, Flora IV^oods confided to her 
her history. It was a short and common one. 
Ah, how many such there are in every city! 
Flora was country born and bred. Her father, 
fancying he could do better in the city, had 
moved thither some six years before, when 
she was fourteen and her brother eight years 
old. He did obtain a good salary, and they 
lived in comfort. Flora going to the best 
schools and receiving many accomplishments. 
His health always being robust, the thought 
of his death and the consequent destitution of 
his family never occurred to him. But in one 
short week he was stricken down with a fatal 
fever, and for two years Flora had been the 
main breadwinner. The mother, an invalid, 
could contribute but little with her needle to 
their support; and Hubert, though a bright, in- 
dustrious boy, was too young for his salary to 
amount to much. 

“We get on tolerably well,” said Flora, “ but 
our life does not suit us. We have to live in 
an undesirable locality, and occupy rooms in 
a house with most uncongenial persons. My 
mother pines for fresh air, space, and sunshine. 
She is not only the most uncomplaining of 
beings, but looks on the bright side of every- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


63 


thing. She has taught my brother and me to 
receive all our blessings with thankful hearts, 
and be patient under reverses. But I feel 
capable of doing more and better than 
with a gesture toward her surroundings. “ I be- 
lieve that if I could arrange to rent the house 
you speak of, I could make as much selling 
plants and flowers as I earn in this store. I 
am sure the daisy slope you tell me of would 
be ready cash. I remember that you do not 
know me, Mrs. Dabney; but if you would 
kindly ask old Dr. Taylor about me and my 
family, and speak to our senior partner here, 
I do not think you would ask for other refer- 
ences. You may find them only too partial.” 

Mrs. Dabney had become much interested 
in this short talk. Miss Woods’s beauty, sweet 
manners, and intelligence first attracted; then 
her sentiments of daughter and sister, her 
self-reliance and enterprise captivated her. 
Being early in the day and few customers in 
the store, they had the opportunity to formu- 
late plans, into which Mrs. Dabney entered 
heartily. It was agreed that she should call 
upon Dr. Taylor, the pastor of Fifth Street 
Church, and also upon Mrs. Woods, and, in 
addition, write to Mrs. Bussell requesting her 
not to advertise her cottage for a few days. 


64 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Mrs. Dabney hastened home, tarried long 
enough to interest her mother and Annie in 
her new 2^^otege^ wrote the note to Mrs. Rus- 
sell and sallied forth on her visit to Dr. Tay- 
lor. She found that he was from the same 
county that had been the home of the Woodses. 
He had known Flora’s parents and grandpar- 
ents. “ Choice people, excellent people, godly 
people, my dear madam,” were some of the en- 
comiums he bestowed upon them. It was evi- 
dent that Flora was his special favorite. “ She 
works bravely all the week, and is one of my 
best teachers in the Sunday school. She plays 
the organ for us, and as her time during the 
week is not at her own disposal, she meets her 
Sunday school class in the afternoon; has 
formed them into a ‘circle’ of the ‘King’s 
Daughters,’ as she calls it, but it embraces 
more than any other band I know of — covers 
the ground very nearly that your Epworth 
League does. She is not satisfied with encour- 
aging them in all deeds of charity and loving- 
kindness, but she trains them up as young 
sisters in all devotional lines, in love to their 
Church, in knowledge of its doctrines, and in 
the study of all subjects and characters that 
are calculated to expand their minds, enrich 
their characters, and deepen their piety. In 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


65 


short, she appears to have imbibed the spirit 
of the text, ‘ The King’s daughters are all glo- 
rious within,’ and to model her own life upon 
that high aspiration, enjoining it upon her 
young charges also, by both precept and 
example, I know the nature of her work, for 
my granddaughter, who is devoted to her, be- 
longs to her class, and through her my heart 
is gladdened with the knowledge of her gen- 
uine goodness and unassuming worth. But 
really it is not surprising: she comes of an an- 
cestry to whom it is promised that mercy shall 
be shown to thousands of their descendants, 
because of their love to God and the keeping 
of his commands. Her mother is one of the 
most superior women in her intrinsic charac- 
ter I ever knew.” 

With such an indorsement of her first im- 
pressions of pretty Flora Woods, Mrs. Dabney 
sought the mother with very pleasurable feel- 
ings. Although living in a poor quarter of 
the town and with surroundings which 'justi- 
fied Flora’s dissatisfaction, she found their 
own rooms exquisitely neat. The furniture 
and many little belongings bespoke better 
days, while Mrs. Woods, in manner and ap- 
pearance, was evidently a lady in the best 
sense of the word. 

5 


66 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


It was after their early dinner hour, and 
Flora had explained to her mother the plan so 
earnestly discussed a few hours before. 

When Mrs. Dabney opened the subject, 
Mrs. Woods shook her head doubtfully. “ If 
Flora was less self-reliant,” she said, “or if 
heretofore she had ever failed in any project 
of her own originating, I would not agree to 
what appears to me to be a decided risk. I 
cannot give my consent until she has had an 
interview with the lady and reports to me the 
conversation.” 

“You would yourself enjoy the change, 
would you not?” asked Mrs. Dabney. 

“ Indeed I would. To say that I pine for 
the country is simple truth. When we moved 
here under favorable circumstances, I regret- 
ted doing so. I yearn for the free, open coun- 
try, the blue sky flecked with snowy clouds, 
the expanse of starry firmament at night, the 
sunrise and the sunset when it seemed to me as 
if the very vestibule of heaven was open to our 
view, the song of birds, the music of the sway- 
ing pines, the innumerable perfumes of flow- 
ers and forest, and the uplifting of heart by 
contrast with the great heart of nature. Flora 
has inherited these tastes from me. I would 
be glad indeed if she could exchange the life 


ANNIE cooper’s ERIENDS. 


67 


of confinement she leads in that close store 
for some remunerative employment in the 
open air. She is losing weight and color 
steadily, although I do not let her know that 
I perceive it.” 

Mrs. Dabney promised Mrs. Woods that she 
would go with her daughter to “Sunnybank” 
the next day if her employer would give her 
a holiday for the trip, introduce her to Mrs. 
Russell, and endeavor to review the whole 
matter with an impartial eye so as to make a 
corresponding report on her return. The next 
day, therefore, they went on a tour of observa- 
tion. When Mrs. Dabney requested Mr. Mof- 
fat to allow Miss Woods a holiday for her out- 
ing, he spoke of her in such terms of praise 
that she treasured his encomiums with delight 
for Mrs. Russell’s benefit. Their interview 
with that lady was satisfactory beyond their 
most sanguine desires. Mrs. Dabney took a 
private opportunity when Flora was lost in 
admiration of the conservatory to tell Mrs. 
Russell all that she knew and had heard of 
her. 

The result was that Mrs. Russell concluded to 
let Flora her place for absolutely no rent. While 
Flora, astounded at her good fortune, was dumb 
with gratitude, Mrs. Russell said: “ It is no new 


68 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


tiling, my dear, to be so overwhelmed about. It 
is quite common in New York for handsome es- 
tablishments to be placed in charge of ‘care- 
takers,’ responsible parties who fulfill the 
meaning of their titles for the summer months, 
during the owners’ absence on a vacation. In- 
deed, I have two nieces, who, answering an ad- 
vertisement, found themselves delightfully 
lodged for the summer. So why cannot I — 
provincial though I may be — imitate the ways 
of that great metropolis? I am well able to 
forego the profits of a rental, and I do not 
wish to lose this opportunity of doing a kind 
act. Living in the country, I have not yet 
outwardly joined the widespread association 
whose badge I see resting upon your breast, 
yet I hope the inspiring motto is an impulse 
to me as to them. So, ‘In His Name,’ my 
dear child, I am glad to keep you in your 
brave endeavor. Only keep my place in the 
same condition in which I leave it, and write 
to me every month. This is all I ask.” 

Not many days elapsed before the Woodses 
were installed in their new home, and not 
many more ere Mrs. Dabney came again to 
“Sunnybank.” Flora met her at the station, 
and a walk of a few minutes brought them 
to the house. She was in exuberant spirits. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


69 


“ Mrs. Dabney, Mrs. Russell is an angel. 
Surely it was an act of angelic goodness to 
do as she has done toward us. She waited 
last Wednesday until, we arrived here; wished 
to do the honors of our new home to us, she 
said. Mamma and she fell in love at sight: 
congenial spirits, you know. ‘ Use everything 
as if it was your own,’ was Mrs. Russell’s 
parting injunction, as she handed over her 
bunch of keys. ‘Nothing is reserved. There 
is not even a Bluebeard’s closet to excite 
your curiosity and reveal a tragedy. I assure 
you there is no skeleton about my premises. 
May your future life be as free from them as 
mine has been, my dear!’ Those were her last 
words. O Mrs. Dabney, I am so happy! I 
cannot express it to you” — and she seemed 
really transformed by her gleefulness — “ I feel 
that ‘ my feet are on my native heath, and my 
name is’ — not ‘McGregor,’ no indeed, some- 
thing far more appropriate — Flora Woods! 
What could be more so? Flowers and for- 
ests are its synonym! If I had lived before 
the Christian era, I think I would have 
sought out wood nymphs for my companions 
and been altogether a child of the greenwood. 
Come out to the daisy slope with me, dear 
Mrs. Dabney, and see the golden-eyed dar- 


70 


ANNIE cooper’s EEIENDS. 


lings, so bright and beautiful with the dew 
yet upon them — I am so glad you came on the 
early train — I feel as if I was running in a 
diamond field, almost, and picking up wealth 
at every step.” 

“The resources of the place are greater 
than we thought,” said Mrs. Woods. “ The 
fiowers are rarer and in greater profusion. 
Mrs. Russell had the spring work completed, 
hothouse plants* repotted, rosebushes trimmed 
and trained, annuals well set for an abundant 
succession till Jack Frost shall blight their 
beauty, and spring blooming fiowers are just 
in bud.” 

“ Then there is a large strawberry bed, and 
raspberry bushes, and several flourishing 
grapevines; six beehives, too. Mamma is not 
at all afraid of bees. She says that when she 
was a girl she could rob the hives or hive a 
new swarm with perfect impunity.” 

Before Mrs. Dabney left, Flora told her 
what she had realized in one week from the 
sale of her daisies. It was an encouraging 
sum. It had been decided that Hubert would 
carry the flowers to the city. on the earliest 
train, leave them to be sold by an old ladj- 
who had a little fruit stand near the fancy 
store in which Flora had been employed, then 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


71 


return at once to assist his sister in her work 
among the plants. 

The Cooper family had become much inter- 
ested in Flora and her venture. They took 
special pains to recommend her to all their 
acquaintances, and soon orders for garden 
plants, and for flowers for all purposes came 
to the brave girl, who so richly deserved suc- 
cess. 

One day when a particularly beautiful bou- 
quet had been sent by Flora to Annie, the 
latter whispered to her sister: “If it had not 
been for the dear little badge you wear. Flora 
Woods might not have found courage to ques- 
tion you, and so you and Mrs. Russell both 
would have lost the opportunity to be kind to 
her, ‘ In His Name.’ ” 


CHAPTEE VL 


Annie looked up, one afternoon, from the 
book she had been reading, and said: “How 
often I have experienced the fathomless 
depths of a Bible text. It fastens itself on 
my memory and conscience and seems to 
stay with me preeminently over all others, un- 
til it has incorporated itself into my soul life. 
I have been reading over the various texts 
that have been used in the conversion of 
prominent men, for instance the one so noted 
in Martin Luther’s case, ‘The just shall live 
by faith,’ and am struck with the assertion of 
one good man, who said the wealth of a cer- 
tain passage was only partially revealed to 
him after a year’s meditation upon it. I have, 
in a less degree, had a similar experience.” 

“I doubt not, my dear, very many have,” 
replied her mother. “ For several weeks the 
verse that has been repeating itself continu- 
ally in my mind is this, ‘ The wrath of man 
shall praise thee; the remainder of wrath 
shalt thou restrain.’ The comfort I have de- 
rived from my reflections upon it, I cannot 
( 72 ) 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FRIENDS. 


73 


express to you. I have been solemnized by 
thoughts of the power and grandeur of God; 
my mind has expanded with views of his great 
wisdom and love, his unwearied vigilance over 
the affairs of humanity, and his tender watch 
care over each individual. How are the puny 
efforts at self-government and ignoble rebel- 
lion overruled, often for the good of the rebel 
himself, his fellow-creatures, and for the glory 
of God! I have thought of many instances in 
the Bible that illustrate this text. St. Paul, 
for example. What contrition his ‘wrath* 
against the followers of Jesus eventually 
caused him, and what consecration of himself 
followed when the voice from heaven ‘re- 
strained’ him upon the road to Damascus! 
Under my personal observation I have known 
cases which I believed could be placed in the 
list.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the 
entrance of Mrs. Dabney, who, with the aft- 
ernoon paper in her hand, e^^claimed: “Moth- 
er, here is a sad incident! Mrs. Overton’s 
son Andrew attempted suicide last night! 
The account states that he is now out of dan- 
ger, but for hours his life hung in the bal- 
ance.” 

“Poor woman! I will go to her at once. 


74 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Annie, I trust this occurrence will be one more 
added to the list of which I was speaking.” 

In less than half an hour Mrs. Cooper was 
at Mrs. Overton’s door. She was warmly wel- 
comed by the sad -faced widow, whose wan 
cheeks and haggard eyes indicated a sleepless 
night. 

“ He is asleep. Thank God, it is not the 
sleep that knows no waking in this world! O 
Mrs. Cooper, I hardly know how I am alive to 
tell you. The shock was so great, and so sud- 
den! My youngest boy, only eighteen years 
of age, not yet a man, and in my thoughts a 
boy still! ” 

‘‘What possessed him, my dear Mrs. Over- 
ton?” 

“You may well use that expression * pos- 
sessed him,^ for it appears to me that the de- 
mon of anger must have obtained full posses- 
sion of him. A boyish quarrel not worth 
remembering for a day, but the circumstances 
and the fact of its being overheard by his 
employer so chagrined and angered Andrew 
that with the utmost precipitation he procured 
the deadly drug from the nearest store and 
paused not until, in the remotest outskirts of 
the city, he threw himself at the roots of a 
tree — and swallowed it. Then — for with the 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


75 


utmost shame and contrition, it appears to me 
that a human soul can feel, he has confessed 
it all to me — when he was conscious that he 
had indeed swallowed a poison and that it 
would immediately commence its work of 
death, he was seized with a furious panic of 
fear, intensified, overshadowed by a sense of 
the enormity of his sin. For a little while he 
sat still, paralyzed by terror and remorse. He 
said that he felt as if he was suspended over 
the bottomless pit of the lost; that his doom 
was sealed and in a few moments he would be 
irrevocably shut up in eternal woe. He must 
have had an experience similar to that which 
it is generally believed a drowning person has 
when the events of one’s life flash before the 
mental vision with panoramic distinctness, 
for the varied and rapid lines of thought that 
occupied his frenzied brain must have all been 
mirrored there with lightning-like celerity. 
He thought of me and my grief, how insufii- 
cient the provocation to his anger, and over 
and above all rose the frowns of an offended 
God. The sound of the distant clock striking 
the hour of ten seemed to rouse him from his 
bodily apathy. A wild yearning for life, for 
rescue, for companionship, took possession of 
him. He sprang to his feet and fled to the 


76 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


residence of the nearest physician, which for- 
tunately happened to be our own family doc- 
tor. Arriving there with only strength enough 
to signal a furious alarm upon the doorbell, 
he sunk upon the steps in an almost uncon- 
scious condition. Dr« Ramsey, answering the 
summons himself, understood from his faint 
answers what the trouble was, and, as most 
fortunately his buggy was in waiting, took him 
in it and drove to the nearest drugstore.” 

“Did anyone inform you of what hap- 
pened? ” 

“Not until he was out of danger. For hours 
those kind friends exerted themselves to the 
utmost in his behalf. Often they paused, 
thinking their efforts would be utterly futile, 
and as often would they resume their labors, 
using every remedy that science and skill have 
devised, and that their value of a human life 
could suggest. At last they perceived that 
their endeavors would be successful, and not 
till then was the intelligence brought to me. 
Soon after, my boy, my youngest child, was 
laid upon his bed, looking to my newly awak- 
ened fears as if he were already dead, so white, 
so haggard, so prostrate.” 

Mrs. Cooper evinced her sympathy by a firm 
pressure of the hand she held, and Mrs. Over- 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FRIENDS. 


77 


ton continued: “O my friend, words cannot 
convey to you my feelings. All my other 
children I firmly believe are Christians, so 
my prayers have centered on Andrew as my 
one stray lamb without the fold. I have 
watched his character, his disposition, his 
habits, with a jealous eye, made acutely crit- 
ical because of my great love and solicitude. 
I have prayed with all the fervor of my heart 
that in his youth he might enlist in the serv- 
ice of God, and be armed with strength from 
above to resist all the temptations that come 
to young men in a large city. And now, to 
have him commit such a deadly sin, it is al- 
most more than I can bear.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Overton, take courage. Did 
you not say that he was truly contrite? If he 
is, surely he will confess it to his heavenly as 
well as to his earthly parent; then can you not 
claim the promise, ‘If any man confess his 
sin, God is faithful and just to forgive? ’ ” 

“Ah!” said the poor mother, “I do trust 
his penitence will be that which needeth not 
to be repented of. I really believe it is genu- 
ine, but what a shadow over his young life! 
how mortified, humiliated he will be! How 
can he face his acquaintances? I fear the ef- 
fect upon his future.” 


78 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


“Mrs. Overton, excuse me, but I am sur- 
prised at such thoughts finding a resting place 
in your mind. After the great mercy God has 
shown you in sparing your boy’s life, restor- 
ing him to you from the very brink of the 
grave, can you not trust him for Andrew’s 
future? It is late, and I must go. Let me 
leave with you a text that my mind has been 
dwelling upon for some weeks past. It is pe- 
culiarly suited to your consideration now, a 
firm basis for your faith and your prayers. 
It is the declaration of the all-wise, all-pow- 
erful God: ‘The wrath of man shall praise 
me, and the remainder of wrath will I re- 
strain.’ ” 

A week elapsed before Mrs. Cooper was 
able to again visit Mrs. Overton, who greeted 
her with a manner so composed, a smile so 
calm and bright that her visitor was assured 
at the first glance that her mind was anchored 
in the deep-sea soundings of faith and that 
peace which passeth understanding. With- 
out formal salutations, Mrs. Overton at once 
alluded to the closing sentences of their last 
conversation: “Thank you, my dear friend, 
for the text you left with me. I doubt if any 
other in the Bible could have helped me as 
much at that time. A basis for my faith and 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


79 


prayers, you said. Yes, indeed; a firm founda- 
tion, planted upon the Rock of Ages. It has 
upheld me, given me of its strength, its pow- 
er. The grand promise has been fulfilled to 
me already — beyond the reach of my feeble 
faith, and sooner than my hopes and prayers. 
So much better is God to us than we deserve 
or imagine. This passage has been the key 
to unlock to me some of his ‘ deep things,’ and 
a revelation of love and mercy greater than I 
have ever experienced in my past life.” 

“ I rejoice to hear you say so,” said Mrs. 
Cooper. 

“ Yes,” continued Mrs. Overton, “ I now see 
how God restrained the wrath of my poor boy, 
reached out his mighty arm and preserved 
him from a terrible death of body and soul. 
Not only that, but he is now making it to 
praise him, for my dear child is, I humbly 
believe, a truly converted soul to-day” — her 
feelings overcame her and she was unable to 
proceed. Mrs. Cooper shed tears also, tears 
of sympathy, the purest and most delightful, 
rejoicing with her who had “found that which 
was lost.” 

Presently, “ Tell me all about it ” came gen- 
tly from Mrs. Cooper’s lips, and, wiping her 
eyes, Mrs. Overton resumed: “ Up to the time 


80 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


of your last visit, the doctor had not allowed 
Andrew to see anyone, although many friends 
had called, and our dear pastor among the 
number. The next morning, however, he was 
so much stronger that I allowed Mr. Wilkin- 
son to see him. He requested a private inter- 
view, which I gladly granted. He remained 
with Andrew^ for three hours. I need not tell 
you that it was a season of prayer with me. 
I felt that it was a crisis in my^on’s life, that 
if his sorrow for his rash act was not suffi- 
cient to cause him to throw himself on God’s 
mercy as a sincere penitent, his heart would be 
hardened, the Holy Spirit grieved, and when, 
O when would he ever return ? I felt that our 
pastor, with his gentle, loving nature, was 
more fitted to counsel and guide him than 
any human being I knew, and so I wept and 
prayed, awaiting anxiously the close of their 
conversation. When at last Mr. Wilkinson 
appeared, I signaled him into another apart- 
ment. He kindly answered my mute appeal, 
and said: ‘ My dear sister, I can hardly bear 
to leave Andrew, but other engagements com- 
pel me to do so. He is in an agony of mind, 
and I cannot assure him of peace when there 
is none. I have spoken to him of the mercy 
and forgiveness of God with inward prayer 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


81 


that my words to him might be prompted by 
the Spirit, but they make no impression on 
him. I feel that God is dealing directly with 
him, and we must leave him in his hands. 
My faith is strong that erelong the voice that 
said to the storm-tossed waves “ Be still,” will 
speak to him and there will be a great calm.’ 
For three days, my dear friend, my boy’s dis- 
tress continued. He declared that he was a 
murderer, and that no murderer could have 
eternal life; that he had been religiously 
taught all his life and had sinned deliberately, 
and for him there was no hope. “No hope! ” 
was his constant cry. O the misery of those 
days! Dear Mr. Wilkinson was with him every 
hour that he could spare from his pastoral du- 
ties, repeating the tender invitations and prom- 
ises of Scripture, praying with and singing to 
him. At last theclouds rolled away and the Sun 
of Bighteousness poured such a flood of glory 
into his soul that I felt he was indeed a new 
creature. Do you wonder that I wish to call 
upon everything that hath breath to unite with 
me in praising the Lord? Andrew sent for 
the young comrade with whom he had quar- 
reled, and also for their employer, and made 
every acknowledgment of his wrongdoing to 
each. There was then a generous rivalry of 
6 


82 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


personal blame in the matter of their angry 
talk, and it ended in a renewal of friendship 
with the one, and his restoration to the confi- 
dence of the other. Friends have been so 
kind to him, even slight acquaintances have 
taken him by the hand, encouraging him to 
‘ look not mournfully upon the past,’ but to 
go bravely into the future and let his conduct 
redeem it all. Andrew told me all this with 
gratitude and appreciation, but said with suf- 
fused eyes: ‘Mother, I know my Lord has 
cast my sins behind his back as he promised, 
but when I am an old man I shall still pray, 
“Eemember not against me the sins of my 
youth.” It comforts me to make confession 
and keeps me humble.’ And I replied: ‘Yes, 
my child; and let us never cease to offer 
thanksgiving to Him who has “made even 
the wrath of man to praise him.” ’ ” 


CHAPTER VII. 


It was a Sunday morning toward the latter 
part of May. In cities the church bells 
were chiming their joyous call to worshipers, 
and thousands were wending their way to the 
earthly temples of the Most High, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

In towns and villages also, although perhaps 
with less stately measures, yet with a melody 
that charmed every ear, the sacred call floated 
out, from the steeple and belfry, beyond the 
streets and houses, over hilltop and valley, 
proclaiming their universal message. To all 
who w’ould hear how sweetly did the gospel 
invitation sound! “Come! Come! Come! Come, 
ye weary and heavy-laden, and learn the way 
to rest! Come, ye sin-stained souls, for one day 
‘cease from evil and learn to do well! ’ Come, 
ye who are at variance with each other, lay 
your petty wrangles by and learn the divine 
lesson of forgiveness! Come, rich and poor, 
high and low, wise and ignorant, saint and sin- 
ner, meet in his courts who is the Lord and 

( 83 ) 


84 ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 

Maker of all! Come, liim that is athirst, and 
whosoever will!” And the reply from each 
heart attuned to the spirit of the summons 
was: “Yes; even so come. Lord Jesus, be with 
us in thy house to-day.” 

But the congregation with which we will 
meet was far away from city anthem or vil- 
lage bell. They gathered “not in temples 
made with hands;” and yet, though spire and 
pinnacle of man’s device were wanting to point 
away from this world to one of endless peace 
and love, they were surrounded by more elo- 
quent monitors, for He who does not “ leave 
himself without witness” spoke to them by 
the manifold voices of nature. The mighty 
trees with their “green coronal of leaves” 
formed at once shaft, roof, and shrine. “ God’s 
ancient sanctuary” told of his wondrous power 
and majesty. The deep-blue sky, flecked with 
sailing wreaths of snow; the various shades 
of green in tree and shrub and grass; the 
flickering shadows, here and there; the whis- 
pering winds among the boughs; the sweet, 
mournful music of the distant dove’s tender 
call to his mate; the merrier chirp of birds 
flitting from limb to limb, recounted his love 
and care. And soon one of his most humble 
and devoted servants would proclaim to the 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


85 


waiting audience the message — more distinct 
and tender than any which their surroundings 
suggested — offered mercy and pardoning grace 
in a Saviour’s blood which could wash the vil- 
est clean. 

This congregation was not assembled in an 
unbroken forest, although they rested in the 
shade of a primeval one. At a little distance 
from them was partially cleared ground, and 
beyond a stretch of prairie land. About a 
dozen cabins of the rudest build formed the 
nucleus for a village in the “deadening” re- 
ferred to, for this was in far-away Oklahoma, 
some fifteen miles from Guthrie, and it had 
been but a few weeks since the first sound of 
ax and saw had broken the stillness of that 
new country. Little farmhouses had been 
built on claims near by, and so a “settlement” 
established, which had furnished this Sunday 
morning a congregation for the preacher who 
was about to open the services. “ Plucky Par- 
son Parker,” some called him ; others, with less 
observance of alliteration, dubbed him “Lucky” 
Parson Parker, and each thought both titles 
well suited to liim. The circumstances which 
had given rise to these sobriquets were of a 
nature to win respect and cordial liking for 
him upon whom they had been bestowed. In 


86 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


a rough and newly settled country there are 
many opportunities where a man can show 
his pluck if his good luck— so called — attends 
him. It had been the case with Horace Parker, 
a good specimen of “muscular Christianity.” 
Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, strong of 
limb, he was as athletic and vigorous as any 
“boomer” before him. He had had the good 
fortune to be of marked service to several of 
the settlers. When Bill West’s daughter Mar- 
tha was dashed to the ground by her father’s 
bucking pony, was it not the best of “luck,” 
Bill said, that the parson should have come 
to the fork in the trail at that very instant and 
had the “ pluck ” to catch Dandy by his nose 
and firmly hold him till Martha could disen- 
gage her foot from the stirrup and her skirt 
from the pommel, and so saved her. from being 
dragged and kicked to a frightful death ? When 
Jake Gallups’s little three-year-old girl had 
caught her dress on fire, was it not “lucky” 
that the parson had just come to the door of his 
cabin as she rushed from the blazing brush 
heap? and surely it was pluck that made him 
spring to her, tearing his coat from his shoul- 
ders and saving her life by enveloping her in 
it and rolling her upon the ground. Then if 
it had not been for the luck of his presence 


kmiTS, COOPEH^S FRIENDS. 


87 


and the pluck of his action, Bob Waters’s 
boy might have died from the bite of the moc- 
casin, had not the parson, without an instant’s 
hesitation, applied his lips to the wound and 
sucked the poison away. But the most singu- 
lar instance of luck and pluck was When Pete 
Kelly’s white mare was stolen and. the settlers 
set out in pursuit of the thief. Parson Parker 
was among the foremost, and when at last the 
poor wretch was overtaken, pale and trem- 
bling, expecting nothing better than ‘‘ a strong 
rope and a short shrift,” which the outraged 
pursuers were about to administer, forward 
sprang “the parson,” to the astonishment and 
dismay of the crowd, declaring it should not 
be done. The thief should be punished, but 
not lynched; if he was, it should be over his 
dead body. In vain they protested and urged; 
he was firm, and triumphed. How could Bill 
West proceed to extremities, when he thought 
of Martha and the bucking pony? How could 
Jake Gallups fail to succumb when the hands 
stretched out so imploringly yet bore the 
scars caused by his child’s rescue from the 
flames? Or Waters, when he remembered 
what the parson had done for his prattling boy? 

So Horace Parker saved a life all unpre- 
pared to end, and volunteered to be one of 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


the guard to carry the prisoner bound to 
Guthrie, and there deliver him to the officers 
of the law; and Pete Kelly mounted his mare 
and with the surprised band faced homeward, 
respect and admirationf or the ‘‘ plucky parson ” 
increasing as they grew cooler and more satis- 
fied that wiser counsels had prevailed. 

After this Mr. Parker’s fame had spread, 
and whenever he preached he was sure of at- 
tentive listeners, and a goodly number of 
them. He had helped others in their house 
building, and when he felled the trees for his 
one-roomed log cabin, offers were promptly 
made to assist him. Living here as a center, 
he in old-fashioned Methodist circuit rider 
style made appointments and kept them as 
best he could, under trees in pleasant weather, 
in cabins when necessary, for the Church Ex- 
tension Society had not yet come to his help. 

That day the weather was fine, as we have 
seen, and no frescoed ceiling could have aided 
devotion as did the blue dome above, under 
which were assembled some fifty men and a 
few women and children. A rough platform 
of planks placed across barrels was the speak- 
er’s improvised stand, while the congregation, 
some upon felled logs, others leaning against 
trees, were reverent and attentive. 


ANNIE COOPEK’s FRIENDS. 


89 


Mr. Parker was a fine singer; his voice rang 
out clear and melodious, in the noble hymn, 
“All hail the power of Jesus’ name.” Lining 
it out as he sung, many united with him, by 
his pressing invitation. Thus were they better 
prepared for the prayer which followed, a 
prayer which voiced the inarticulate cravings 
of some who felt that the soul whose confes- 
sions and pleadings for pardon were bearing 
them into the presence of the Mediator was 
akin to theirs, that it knew what sore tempta- 
tions were, what conflicts meant, so that when 
it soared into adoration, thanksgiving, and 
praise, they felt not only that its experience 
exceeded theirs, but a longing that it might 
not always be so. 

The parables of the lost sheep and the prod- 
igal son, and the 139th Psalm, from which 
the text was afterward taken, were read and 
simply and concisely commented upon, for Mr. 
Parker, believing the promise, “My word shall 
not return unto me void,” rightly concluded 
it was better to read and comment upon the 
Bible to those to whom he had reason to fear 
seldom read it themselves than to consume 
that time in a more lengthy sermon. More- 
over, in his Discipline he saw that it was his 
duty to read a passage from both the Old and 


90 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


New Testament at every Sunday morning 
service, an injunction which he felt constrained 
literally to obey. 

His text was: “ Whither shall I go from thy 
Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy pres- 
ence ? If I take the wings of the morning, and 
dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even 
there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right 
hand shall hold me.” (Ps. cxxxix. 7, 9, 10.) 
The preacher dwelt upon the immensity of the 
universe; the all-pervading presence of the tri- 
une God, in his offices of Creator, Eedeemer, 
and Sanctifier. He asked why anyone should 
wish to escape that holy presence. Why not, 
instead, desire to seek it, when the invitation 
“Come unto Me” was given to all “the ends 
of the earth,” to all that were heavy-laden, to 
all that desired rest? 

“Ah, it is sin that raises the barrier between 
us and Him who so loved the world that he 
gave his Son to die for it. It is the conscious- 
ness of sin that makes us, like Jonah of old, 
vainly strive to ‘ flee from the presence of the 
Lord.’ Are there not some before me,” he 
inquired, “who have fled from home and 
friends, whose sins have caused the blush of 
shame to mantle their cheeks and occasion 
distress, perhaps mortification, to those who 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


91 


loved them ? Your friends may have lost sight 
of you- A broken-hearted mother, as she sees 
each descending sun, may sigh for her wander- 
ing boy; or, as she is greeted by the light of 
day, ask in her loneliness, ‘My son, my son; is 
he yet alive? ’ Brothers, listen to me! One is 
speaking to you to-day who can sympathize 
with you as you little think. I have passed 
through experiences like yours. I fled from 
a comfortable home, from loving parents, and 
tried to flee from the presence of God, because 
of sin; because I loved it better than all else 
and would not give it up. AVhen far away 
among the islands of the Pacific Ocean — for I 
fled even unto the uttermost part of the sea — 
there God’s right hand laid hold upon me and 
caused me to acknowledge, then as now, that 
even there it had ‘led me.’ Yes, my broth- 
ers, led me unto such unexpected circumstan- 
ces and surroundings that I cried, as did Jo- 
nah, by reason of my affliction unto the Lord, 
and he heard me. Then did I pray, ‘Cast me 
not away from thy presence, and take not thy 
Holy Spirit from me;’ and when I felt that 
that blessed Spirit did indeed bear witness 
with mine that I had passed from death unto 
]ife — yes, brothers, I mean it, from death unto 
life — then I Riade a covenant with my Lord 


92 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


that henceforth I would teach transgressors 
his ways. At once I returned to the United 
States, and as soon as possible offered myself 
as a missionary in the roughest, most needy 
section of the Southwest. I was willing to 
endure privation and fatigue. I wanted to 
have access to those poor prodigals who had 
not yet concluded to return unto their Father. 
I have traveled that hard and thorny path, I 
have felt the hunger which nothing but the 
> Bread of Life can satisfy, the thirst that only 
the water that flows from the Living Rock can 
quench, but thank God I have found the way 
back. I came a humble penitent to my Fa- 
ther, and he met and has had compassion on 
me, and has declared his son who was dead to 
be alive again, who, though he was lost, is 
found.” 

Then the preacher with streaming eyes 
pleaded with those rough men, as if it was 
the last time he should ever have the opportu- 
nity to do so, and as if that evening’s setting 
sun might be the signal for him to give an ac- 
count of his stewardship. 

Finally, taking a letter from his pocket, he 
said: ‘‘Dear friends, we received our mail, you 
know, last night. Inclosed to me came this 
paper which you see in my hand, not addressed 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


93 


to me by name, but only ‘ To the Preacher,’ and 
as such was forwarded to me. It appears that 
others like this have been sent to various 
points — to Texas, New Mexico, and elsewhere. 
They are written in behalf of an afflicted 
mother who yearns over her absent boy, and 
hopes that one of these many letters may be 
heard by him, or some one who knows of him, 
and by this means he may be restored to the 
comfort and support of her old age.” 

Then Mr. Parker read the touching appeal 
that had been written by Miss Kate Clifton at 
Mrs. Farmer’s request. As he pronounced the 
name of the son, Eobert Farmer, of whom 
information was earnestly sought, a stout, 
dark youth in rough garb, who had stood lean- 
ing against a tree on the outer edge of the 
congregation, might have been seen to start 
violently and then, with compressed lips and 
clinched hands, endeavor to suppress his emo- 
tion; but upon Mr. Parker’s urgent entreaty, 
as he closed the letter, that if the young man 
referred to were present he would come for- 
ward, he walked rapidly to the platform. Mr. 
Parker seized his trembling hand in his sym- 
pathetic grasp, and, with a gesture of com- 
passion, placed his arm over Eobert’ s shoulder. 
The cry “ Pray for me ” broke from the latter’s 


94 


ANNIE COOPER S FRIENDS. 


lips; and sinking upon liis knees, he crossed 
his arms upon the platform, resting his head 
upon them, and wept bitterly. 

The incident electrified the congregation. 
Mr. Parker, with outstretched arms, exclaimed: 
“ Thank God, the prodigal will return not only 
to his earthly parent, but there will be joy in 
the presence of the angels of God over this 
sinner that repenteth! Who will join him in 
his penitence and his prayers? ” 

Then occurred a scene which is a foretaste 
of heaven to the faithful preacher when he an- 
tedates the joy of his Saviour’s “Well done;” 
when by faith he sees the stars that will be in 
his crown of rejoicing, souls saved through his 
instrumentality. More than half of his hear- 
ers came forward to the improvised “altar,” 
tears, groans, and sighs evidencing the fact 
that the preaching to which they had listened 
had been the demonstration of the Spirit and 
with power. 

The sun was sinking ere the last conversa- 
tion was over, for with each one had Mr. Par- 
ker held a faithful, personal interview, and the 
presence of the Holy Ghost, as fresh and true 
as when it was shed forth on the day of Pen- 
tecost, was there to bless. 

That night Mr. Parker was alone in his 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


95 


cabiB, and after kneeling in thanksgiving for 
all that his eyes had seen and heart had felt 
that day, he wrote a letter to Miss Clifton, the 
entire contents of which cannot yet be sur- 
mised. An explanation, however, will be re-* 
served for the next chapter. 


CHAPTEK YIII. 


About ten days after the Sunday services 
just described, Kate Clifton stopped, as she 
was returning home after finishing her music 
lessons for the day, to see her old friend, 
Mrs. Farmer. She found that she was much 
improved since her last visit. The tonic you 
sent me. Miss Kate,” she gratefully acknowl- 
edged, “ has helped me more than anything I 
ever took. I believe if I continue it in a short 
time I will be able to go to my sewing again.” 

“ Well, you certainly shall have it as long as 
you need it; for the Epworth League of our 
church is making a specialty of such things — 
that is, providing suitable medicines and diet 
for convalescents, so that they may the sooner 
regain their strength and be able to help them- 
selves. . You will be glad, I am sure, when 
you are able to leave your room once more.” 

“I surely will; and yet. Miss Kate, since I 
saw you I have had such a holy time in this 
room that it almost seems to me like a sacred 
spot.” Then, suddenly leaving the subject, she 
inquired hesitatingly: You have not heard 
( 96 ) 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 97 

anything of my boy yet, have you? Ain’t got 
no answer to any o’ the letters you wrote?” 

“No; if I had, I should have brought it to 
you at once.” 

“ I believe you, my dear young lady. It was 
a heap o’ trouble to put you to.” 

“ Do not think of that. I wrote them most 
cheerfully. Let us hope we will still hear. You 
remember they were sent to sections where the 
mail facilities are uncertain, and we must ex- 
pect delay.” 

“ Well, I’m willing to wait God’s good time. 
Miss Kate, I believe as I never did before that 
Diy boy will come back to me aiid be a changed 
man, a good Christian man, and a comfort to 
me all the rest of my life.” 

“I sincerely hope so.” 

“ But I want to tell you what makes me be- 
lieve it. Last Sunday morning a week ago I 
was just able to sit up. My neighbor, who lives 
in the next room and is very kind to me, had 
come in, given me a nice breakfast and tidied 
up my room, then said as I was so much better 
she would go to church that day; so I was left 
alone. I sat and looked out of the window at 
the blue sky, and listened to the church bells. 
I wondered where Kobert was, whether he 
could see that beautiful sky, whether he was 
7 


98 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


free or in prison, well or dead. I prayed and 
prayed for him as I do nearly all the time; 
then, when the bells were all still, I took up 
my Bible to read. It opened at the raising 
of Lazarus, because right there was folded 
this piece of paper that Miss Annie Cooper 
sent by her sister once. She sent word it 
might encourage me, and it did.” 

Kate opened it and read: “ Never despair of 
a child. The one that fills you with the most 
solicitude and occasions you most fervent 
prayers may yet gladden your life with joys 
beyond your highest hopes. Never despair 
of a soul as long as you can plead with God 
for that soul or strive to bring it into full view 
of Christ.” 

have read this before,” said Kate; “it 
was written by Dr. Culyer, who wrote much 
to comfort the sorrowful and afflicted.” 

“ Well, it surely has comforted me. I read 
it over again and said, ‘I will not despair, I 
will hope.’ Then I began to read the chapter. 
Somehow I kept on thinking of Bobert. He 
was dead, yes, he was dead in trespasses and 
sins, but then Jesus said, ‘I am the Kesurrec- 
tion and the Life.’ O, I felt if I could only be- 
lieve, he would raise my poor boy to a new 
life, a true life in him. I hoped, I prayed, 


ANNIE COOPEK’s FRIENDS. 


99 


but I could not believe that he would. I refid 
on till I came to what he said to Martha: ‘ Said 
I not unto thee, that if thou wouldest believe, 
thou shouldest see the glory of God ? ’ I cried 
out aloud, ‘ Lord, I believe, help thou my un- 
belief,’ and my burden was gone. It was like 
the picture in ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ when 
the burden on his back falls ofip as he comes 
up to the cross and gazes on it. I was all 
alone, and I shouted and cried and praised 
God. Now I know I shall see the glory of 
God in the salvation of my son. Maybe not 
with these earthly eyes; maybe I will be in 
heaven and rejoice with the angels over my 
own one precious sinner that will yet surely 
repent. No matter, I can leave it with God. 
The Book reads, ‘Jesus saith unto her;’ he 
has said it unto me, too. I believe him. I 
can trust him. I can wait.” 

Kate’s eyes were streaming. Quite unable 
to speak, she gazed on the wrinkled face radi- 
ant in its ecstasy of faith and joy, till flitting 
through her mind came the words: “Thou 
hast hid these things from the wise and pru- 
dent, and hast revealed them unto babes.” 

At this moment a slight stir was heard in 
the hall, a voice said, “ This is her room,” the 
door was thrown open, and a stout, sunburned 


100 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


young man came rapidly forward. Mrs. 
Farmer partly rose from her chair, but sunk 
back again, gasping: “God be praised! O 
Kobert, my son, my son!” 

He threw his arms around her, and Kate 
Clifton, waiting only a moment to see that 
excess of joy was not more than her feeble 
frame could bear, gently closed the door and 
left the house. 

Upon entering her own bedroom Kate ob- 
served upon the mantel a letter, which had 
been placed there during her absence. The 
postmark was so indistinct that she could not 
decipher it, but something in the handwriting 
made her cheek pale and her pulse quicken. 
The surprising peculiarity that causes so many 
to gaze and speculate upon the address of a 
letter, blended with a wild hope she hardly 
acknowledged to herself, caused her to stand 
as if spellbound gazing at the envelope. At 
last she quickly tore it open, and with one 
hurried glance took in the superscription; 
then her eyes devoured page after page till, 
coming to the signature, she clasped it to her 
heart and exclaimed with fervid reverence, 
“ God, I thank thee! ” 

Peeping over her shoulder as she read, we 
might have seen that the writer was Horace 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


101 


Parker; we might have learned that he had 
been her lover in bygone years; that his own 
dissipation had raised the barrier between 
them that had resulted in his becoming an exile 
and a vagabond on the earth; we might read 
a more elaborate account of his redemption 
and reformation than he gave to his audience 
in Oklahoma; we might have pitied his sor- 
row at reading of her marriage in a stray 
newspaper and thus being persuaded that for 
his earthly love his reformation had come too 
late; we might have admired the self-denial 
with which he relinquished all desire of honor 
or reputation as a minister in cultivated cir- 
cles, and the devotion which led him to ignore 
his fine education and gifts of oratory, or rath- 
er to consecrate them to the search of the lost 
sheep on the dark mountains and among the 
pitfalls and waste places where he now la- 
bored; and in conclusion we might have sym- 
pathized with his delight upon receiving the 
letter of inquiry signed with the name he still 
held dear, convincing him that for five years 
he had lain under a grievous mistake — the 
marriage was that of a cousin of similar name 
of whom he had never heard. 

“And now, my beloved Kate,” he wrote, “my 
heart tells me that you are still unchanged. I 


102 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


cannot bring myself to think its whispers are 
misleading. I have deserved the loss of your 
love. I have been most unworthy, but I can 
truly say that in my worst hours your image 
was ever cherished by me as that of a pure 
saint of another and better world. For -five 
years I have been humbly trying to atone for 
the past. I feel pledged to this work which 
engages my every energy. Can you share it 
with me? Can you leave the comforts of civ- 
ilization and endure the privations of frontier 
life? Can you, in short, be the wife of a mis- 
sionary in Oklahoma? If you will, only name 
the day when I can come and claim you as my 
helpmate in this difficult but glorious work. 
Words fail me when I think of what my life 
may be with you. O Kate, let the past suf- 
fice for separation and misunderstanding. 
Let us quickly be united in those bonds 
which death alone can sever.” 


When the circle of friends which gathered 
around Annie Cooper’s invalid chair' heard 
that their beloved Miss Kate was soon to be- 
come the wife of a missionary in Oklahoma, 
their regret at parting was speedily followed 
by the desire to assist her in her preparations 
for her future home. Some of the girls were 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


103 


members of her Sunday school class, others 
were associated with her as teachers in the 
mission school, and nearly all members of the 
same chapter of the Epworth League. Each 
felt desirous of contributing to the store of 
comforts that thoughtful love suggested. 

Olive Hastings’s lai:ighing voice was heard 
calling the chattering crowd to order. “ Come, 
girls, let us have some system in this matter. 
Don’t let us act in so heedless a way that the 
result will resemble some weddings I have 
seen, where the perplexed bride tried to ap- 
pear properly appreciative over the fourth 
butter knife, and many cases of duplicate. A 
little wise concert of action may prevent sim- 
ilar complications.^’ 

“Kemember,” continued Annie, “that Miss 
Kate’s mansion will consist of but two rooms. 
Mr. Parker has had only one, but in honor of 
the bride he will enlarge his borders.” 

“ I never was much interested in the Church 
and Parsonage Extension Society before,” said 
Claude Stanley, “but I shall be hereafter. 
Mr. Parker is wonderfully independent, how- 
ever. He writes that his friends will add an- 
other room to his log cabin while he comes 
for his bride.” 

“A log cabin!” exclaimed Emmie Herbert, 


104 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


a thoroughly city-bred girl, to whose mind 
such a habitation appeared the concentration 
of hardships. 

“ Certainly, a log cabin, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Cooper, in a reassuring tone. “You do not 
know how very comfortable they can be made. 
I have seen them, slept in them, and for simple 
comfort they are all-sufficient.” 

“Now, I am ready,” said Olive, rapping on 
the table with her pencil and spreading a 
sheet of blank paper before her. “Let us 
state what we will give collectively and indi- 
vidually for the outfit of our own special mis- 
sionary — the first one who has gone from our 
number.” 

“A nice bedroom set from her fellow-teach- 
ers in the mission school,” suggested Emmie 
Herbert, at which there was a general laugh. 

“Not yet, my dear,” replied Mrs. Dabney; 
“we are not fixing up a parsonage proper. 
We are taking care of our own special charge, 
as Olive called her. These will be her wed- 
ding presents, things not too bulky for her to 
carry with her when, as a preacher’s wife, she 
will move from place to place. The railroad 
has not been built there yet. A sewing ma- 
chine and cooking stove are the heaviest ar- 
ticles I would advise.” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


105 


“Sister,” said Annie, “do yon not remem- 
ber how Mrs. Peyton arranged for her fron- 
tier housekeeping? She is the wife of an 
army officer, Emmie, and told us that the gar- 
rison ladies furnished their apartments, sim- 
ply or elegantly, as their taste or purse di- 
rected in fabrics. In other words, the boxes 
and barrels in which their necessaries were 
packed, and in which supplies were brought to 
them, were converted by a little ingenuity and 
skillful handiwork into bedsteads, lounges, 
dressing cases, tables, and chairs; these, up- 
holstered or decorated with any material from 
calico to damask, as one desired, made their 
houses most comfortable and attractive.” 

Annie’s suggestion was highly applauded, 
and forthwith calculations were made, judi- 
cious purchases being the result. It was very 
gratifying to Kate Clifton that her little mis- 
sion class vied among themselves in their of- 
ferings to her. The gaudy pincushions, house- 
wives, and crocheted mats received as gracious 
acceptance and a smile as sweet as the silver 
spoons and forks, the bisque figures and dain- 
ty tete-h4ete tea set that her music scholars 
declared she should enjoy if she was going to 
live among Indians and “boomers,” and in a 
log cabin. 


106 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


When Robert Farmer brought her a large 
package from his mother, saying that she had 
made it herself when she was a girl, “ spun 
and wove every thread of it,” Kate’s eyes over- 
flowed, for as she looked upon the snowy coun- 
terpane, with its intricate design and deep, 
heavy fringe, she knew that Mrs. Farmer had 
given her her most valued possession. “ This 
is too much, Robert: I do not know how to 
thank her.” 

“ O Miss Clifton, that is what mother says 
of you and Mr. Parker. She is so proud 
in the hopes of seein’ him seems like she 
can’t wait till he gets here. She says that 
next to God she is indebted to him and 
you for my cornin’ back to her and livin’ a 
different life.” 


When Horace Parker came to claim his 
bride, Mrs. Cooper requested that the orphan 
girl should be married in her house, so Annie 
gave the flrst bridal kiss to the loved Sunday 
school teacher of her girlhood. 

In the delightful social evening that fol- 
lowed, the circle of friends had opportunity 
to become acquainted with “ the missionary,” 
and the many appreciative and admiring 
things that were said of him to Kate brought 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


107 


the color to her cheek and heightened the look 
of pride with which she regarded him. 


In course of time the expected letter came, 
and while much interest was felt in all 'the 
details of household matters in which Kate 
had been charged to be explicit, still more was 
manifested in the accounts of her enterprises 
of usefulness, her Sunday school and day 
school, her sewing class and influence over 
the unreflned yet kindly women who had 
^welcomed her among them. 

“ God bless her! ” was the thought of each 
of her old associates, for they knew that their 
dear friend would faithfully perform, as she 
had ever done, whatsoever her active hand 
and loyal heart found to do in “ In His Name.” 


CHAPTEE IX. 


“My heart overflowed with sympathy this 
afternoon,” remarked Mrs. Dabney to her 
sister Annie as she entered her room about 
twilight, and drawing a chair close beside her 
proceeded to tell her, as was her invariable 
habit, the incidents of walk or visit since she 
had left the house. “ I heard incidentally that 
two ladies had just rented a room from Mrs. 
Hastings, mother and daughter, the former 
blind, the latter very delicate in appearance; 
that they were entire strangers, but had 
brought a letter of introduction to our pas- 
tor. I felt impelled to call, for I am always 
moved to pity at the thought of strangers in a 
large city. I am particularly glad that I did 
so. I found them reflned, Christian people, 
but I fear in almost needy circumstances.” 

“What gave you that impression, sister?” 

“ Miss Wheeler, the daughter, has written a 
book. Here it is — a prohibition story. With 
much embarrassment she expressed a desire 
that I should purchase it, her mother adding 
that it was, at present, their only means of 
( 108 ) 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


109 


support. Of course 1 bought it gladly, prom- 
ising to show it to my friends and invite them 
to buy copies also.” 

“ Mother,” said the ever thoughtful Annie, 
“ if they rent a room, they necessarily procure 
their own food. I have no doubt but that a 
well-filled waiter to-morrow morning would 
be acceptable,” 

“ I am sure it would be,” replied Mrs. Dab- 
ney. “ Mrs. Hastings told me that they arrived 
to-day, and that she had sent a lunch to their 
room and was satisfied that they had made no 
purchase since.” 

“Where is their home, my daughter?” 

“ In Minnesota. Because of the daughter’s 
health, they have been in Florida the past 
winter. A recent illness has almost exhaust- 
ed their means. I infer that they stopped 
here for two reasons: one that it is rather 
early to return so far north; the other is the 
hope of gaining strength in our pleasant cli- 
mate to enable her to canvass the city with 
her book. I fear that is a vain hope; poor 
thing, she looks very fragile! ” 

Mrs. Dabney’s sympathies were always of 
the most practical kind. She interested many 
in Miss Wheeler’s behalf, as also did Annie, 
who spoke to her daily visitors, calling atten- 


110 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FEIENDS. 


tion to the little pile of books at her elbow, 
and selling a number of copies for the young 
authoress, whose strength did not increase, 
and who was quite unable to leave the house. 

Only a few days passed, when, on Sunday 
morning after service, as Mrs. Dabney was as- 
cending the steps of her home, she was ac- 
costed by Mrs. Hastings’s granddaughter, who, 
running after her with panting breath, uttered 
the startling news : “ Miss Wheeler is dead, and 
grandma begs you to come there at once! ” It 
was too true. Alarming symptoms had devel- 
oped in the night. The rheumatism, after caus- 
ing her intense suffering, had settled about her 
heart and stilled its throbbings forever. 

Ah! who can picture the blind mother’s ag- 
ony as she called in vain upon the beloved 
daughter whose ministrations to her had been 
so tender and so unceasing? She stood beside 
the unconscious form, and between her wails 
of anguish apostrophized the eyes, which had 
been her light; the lips, which had described 
to her all outward objects; the ears, which 
were quick to hear her faintest call; the feet, 
which never wearied in going upon her er- 
rands; the hands, untiring in every labor of 
love; and the hearts of those present ached 
with sympathy. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Ill 


And now what shonld the mourner do? A 
stranger in a strange land, blind and almost 
penniless, what would become of her? What 
would become of her dead? 

Kind and gentle women were around her. 
They had tenderly nursed the daughter in her 
short, sharp illness. They reverently closed 
her eyes, composed her limbs, and dressed 
her for the tomb; then seeking to help the 
bereaved mother, they ask, “To whom shall 
we dispatch?” 

“Alas! ” was the reply. “I have friends at 
home, but no one who can help me at this 
distance.” 

But help was nearer than she deemed. 
These noble women determined to do “what 
they could ’’—Christ’s maximum of duty and 
endeavor — and, in the depths of their com- 
passionate hearts, resolved that the mother 
should not endure the wretchedness of leav- 
ing her daughter to fill a stranger’s grave, but 
that the precious remains should accompany 
her to her distant home. 

Being Sunday, their plan could be more 
easily carried to success. Mrs. Dabney and 
other ladies visited the nearest churches, and 
pitying hearts responded to the woeful tale 
when narrated from the sacred desk. Visitor 


112 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


after visitor went to the house, leaving contri- 
butions. Prominent among the number were 
members of the Epworth League, King’s 
Daughters, and the Society of Christian En- 
deavor. Our friends, Mrs. Dabney and Mrs. 
Blount, having been appointed a special com- 
mittee to receive subscriptions, were able to 
report that their plans could be entirely car- 
ried out. A through ticket was bought for 
the mother; a purse of fifty dollars presented 
to her; her daughter’s body incased in a hand- 
some casket, and the express charges prepaid 
to its final destination. Every thoughtful 
attention was bestowed. A profusion of fair- 
est flowers was arranged with exquisite taste 
within the coffin, and a quantity sent to be 
placed upon it at the funeral. A little simple 
service of song and prayer and tender words 
was held ere they went to the depot, and then 
the “ strangers ” left. Strangers no more, for 
grief and pity, need and sympathy, services 
received and rendered had caused all to real- 
ize the fraternal tie that bound them as chil- 
dren of one Father. 

Mrs. Dabney went home and with fast-fall- 
ing tears related to Annie the touching ac- 
count of Mr. Wilkinson’s pathetic remarks, 
and the final parting. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


113 


‘‘It was heartrending,” she sighed, “to see 
the blind mother, as with tremulous, groping 
hands she bent over her darling and realized 
the tender care that had been bestowed upon 
her. ‘Ah ! ’ she exclaimed, ‘ you have placed 
a lily upon her breast, a fit emblem, for she was 
as pure and spotless as it. And are these 
magnolias? She promised her friends to 
bring them some on her return, and alas! 
alas 1 she is indeed carrying them with her in 
her coffin.’ 

“And now,” continued Mrs. Dabney, “I 
have two intensely interesting facts to tell 
you, which hold for us the blessed lesson, ‘In 
all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall di- 
rect thy paths.’ Mrs. Wheeler said to me, after 
her daughter’s death: ‘ When we reached this 
city and saw how nearly spent our money was, 
the future looked gloomy enough; but we 
locked our door and knelt together and prayed 
God to take care of us m his own way and 
raise up friends to us, and,’ with quivering 
lips she whispered, ‘ he has done it/ The oth- 
er fact is this: It has been remarked by all 
how extremely fortunate it was that these la- 
dies were in the center of the city, in the 
midst of a Christian neighborhood, also that 
they were at Mrs. Hastings’s house, for she 
8 


114 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


had daughters who were devoted in their at- 
tentions and Olive’s friends assisted in every 
way. Mrs. Hastings, you know, is only con- 
valescing from her recent sickness, and is still 
very feeble. I asked her how she could con- 
q;uer her natural nervousness and remain so 
calm amid such exciting scenes. Her reply 
was: ‘My dear, when those ladies came to my 
door and sought admittance, I hesitated to 
give it, for my invariable rule had been not to 
receive strangers without references. They 
told me that they had an errand to perform, 
and would soon return for my answer. As 
soon as they left, I “ took it to the Lord in 
prayer,” and while asking his direction I felt 
that it was my duty to receive them. I did 
so, and I know we are all in God’s hands. 
How can I be other than calm ? ’ ” 

Then Annie’s low, clear tones were heard: 
“ ‘ Lord, . . . when saw we thee a stranger, 
and took thee in? . . . And the King shall 
answer and say unto them, Yerily I say unto 
you. Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of 
the least of these my brethren, ye have done 
it unto me.’ ” 


CHAPTEE X. 


“ ‘ Brethren, I commend to your love and care 
these persons whom we this day recognize as 
members of the Church of Christ. Do all in 
your power to increase their faith, confirm 
their hope, and perfect them in love.’ ” 

Mr. Wilkinson repeated these words im- 
pressively. To many in the large congregation 
they came with a new and solemn charge, not 
unmixed with a twinge of self-reproach arising 
from remembered neglect in the past. It was 
due to the educative effect of the Epworth 
League that, as Mr. Wilkinson distinctly enun- 
ciated the names and residences of the appli- 
cants before him, notebooks and pencils were 
drawn forth and rapid fingers recorded them, 
with mental resolves to make early acquaint- 
anceship with those thus recommended to 
their loving care. 

Among the number was Olive Hastings. 
Sitting in the choir, and thus able to look into 
the faces of the candidates, she was especially 
attracted by the sweet expression of a young 
girl in deep mourning. As soon as the bene- 

( 115 ) 


116 


ANNIE COOPEII’S FRIENDS. 


diction was pronounced she rapidly descended 
the stairs in time to offer her hand and speak 
to her a few words of welcome. Ascertaining 
that their paths homeward lay in the same 
direction, they left the church in company. 
Olive’s cordial manner soon won the confidence 
of Ida Page, who told her that in consequence 
of her mother’s death a few months before 
she was left an orphan. Accepting the invi- 
tation of an uncle to make his house her 
home, she had recently come to the city. Un- 
willing to be a burden upon him, who already 
had a large family, she had offered to fill the 
place of typewriter in his office. 

Duties performed and time well employed 
were proving to her — as all who make a fair 
trial can testify — a panacea for the sadness 
caused by her bereavement and indulged to 
excess in the comparatively idle days at her 
village home. “And now,” she said, timidly 
and with hesitation, “ that I have fulfilled my 
promise to mamma to confirm the vows she 
made for me at my baptism, I trust I will in 
some measure experience the feelings that she 
declared made her so happy when she would 
recite these words: ‘Leave thy fatherless chil- 
dren, I will preserve them alive; and let thy 
widows trust in me.’ ” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


117 


From that day a warm friendship sprang 
up between the two. Ida’s business keeping 
her from engagements during the day, Olive 
would preserve fragments of time to enjoy 
her companionship during the evening. As 
they lived on adjoining blocks, they would 
together attend the evening services of their 
church, and Olive soon introduced her to the 
circle that assembled in Annie Cooper’s 
cheery room. 

Upon one occasion, when the girl members 
of the Epworth League had met there to con- 
sult about some benevolent work they had in 
hand, Ida expressed her regret at being un- 
able to be a more active member. Annie, who 
her friends declared always thought of the 
right thing at the right time, replied: “Ida, I 
can procure you a pile of work, literally, if you 
wish to undertake it.” 

“If it can be done at night, I will be de- 
lighted.” 

“That is what I meant. Mr. Barker, the 
devoted superintendent of the Morris Street 
Mission, which claims so many of pur girls as 
teachers, came to see me yesterday. I showed 
him these lines which I have culled from my 
reading. He was much struck with them, and 
thought if they were printed upon cards and 


118 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


freely distributed they would do good. So we 
drew off the model, and I offered to have them 
typewritten. I thought of dividing them 
among the girls who would ask their gentle- 
men friends to do it for them; but if you would 
like to do it, here they are.” 

Ida’s extended hand was answer sufficient 
as she took the package of blank cards that 
Annie gave her. 

“ It will give me genuine pleasure to do so,” 
she declared, then read the inscription on the 
first card: 

MORRIS STREET MISSION, 

384 'Morris Street. 

Services every Sunday and Thursday night. 

You are invited. 

“ Every one of us shall give account 
of himself to God.” 

(Rom. xiv. 12.) 

I am only one, but I am one. 

I cannot do everything, 

But I can do something. 

What I can do I ought to do, 
and what I ought to do, 
by the grace of God, I will do. 

*^Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” 

James 0. Barker, Siqyerintendent. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


119 


The inscription on the other card was 
equally personal and pointed: 

MORRIS STREET MISSION, 

384 Morris Street. 

Services every Sunday and Thursday night. 

You are invited. 

“He laid down His life for us.” (1 John hi. 16.) 

I have one life to live on earth, 
and only one; 

Whether it will be long or short, 

God only knows. 

How can I lay out this life to the 
greatest advantage? 

What is the best investment I can make of this 
life for the glory of God, the good of 
his Church, 

and the benefit of mankind? 

James O. Barker, SuperintendcnU 

hope,” said Annie, “if we prepare the 
way for these little missions by earnest prayer, 
that the seed they sow may bring forth a rich 
harvest.” 

“ Even if all the good they may accomplish 
is not known to us in this life,” added Mrs. 
Dabney, “ we must have faith that it may bo 

Part of that great store 
Of unsuspected treasure heaven conceals. 

Mr. Barker says that such thoughts renew 


120 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


his strength as a worker, and in my experi- 
ence they have taught me patience.” 

Ida Page had been told that it was Mr. 
Barker’s desire to have the cards ready for 
distribution on the second Sunday after she 
received them, as it was the anniversary of the 
opening of the mission school. Promptly at 
the time they were ready, and when Ida took 
her seat in the crowded room with the large 
package in her hands, she felt as if she could 
claim a share in the school, interest in which 
had attracted such a large number of friends 
and well-wishers. 

As she listened to the brief account of its 
rise and progress as related by the superin- 
tendent, she thought that it was owing to the 
influence of the sentiments expressed on the 
first card of the pair, although they had not 
then been formulated into the words printed 
upon it, for certainly the few earnest souls 
who began the enterprise were indued with 
the individual sense of responsibility which 
led each to resolve to do “what I ought’' a 
“something” that all can do. 

Beginning with such resolves, and with seven 
scholars in a borrowed freight car, on a side 
track, the school had grown till now, in seven 


ANNIE COOPEK’s FEIENDS. 


121 


years, its roll exceeded two hundred, and more 
than three hundred conversions had been at- 
tributed to its influence. A large storehouse 
had been fitted up for the schoolroom proper. 
Overhead, its length was divided into three 
class rooms. A flourishing free day school 
was taught by one of the most devoted of 
the band of teachers; reading rooms and 
bath rooms had been prepared, and places 
of more extended usefulness were in con- 
templation. 

Olive, who sat beside Ida, pointed out many 
of the neatly dressed children, as having flrst 
come there in clothing so worn that their cases 
alone proved the advantage that the neighbor- 
hood-one of the most neglected hitherto in 
the city — had received from the school. But 
these were only a small part of the benefits, 
for when the regular programme closed an 
impromptu experience meeting followed, and 
dozens rose to testify to the blessings wrought 
upon their souls through the meetings held 
there. 

Then followed the distribution of the cards. 
They were given to all who would receive or 
promise to aid in their circulation. Then a 
fervent prayer was offered for God’s blessing 
to go with them, and the little rose-colored 


122 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


embassadors went forth on their mission of 
love. 

Ida’s newly awakened interest in the mis- 
sion school led her there the next Sunday 
morning. While enjoying the hearty singing 
of the whole school, she took greater pleasure 
in Claude Stanley’s infant class, eighty in 
number. It was a pretty sight to see the 
little creatures sitting in tiers; standing in 
perfect time at the tap of the bell; reciting 
in unison prayer, verse, or answered question, 
then blending their little voices in, simple 
songs, clearly explained to them by their 
teacher. 

‘‘¥ou have come at the right time,” said 
Claude to Ida. “ Miss Elliott, who was my 
assistant in this class, has moved from the 
city, and I need another helper at onbe. Will 
you not take her place — play our little or- 
gan for us, aid in keeping order, distribute 
the lesson papers, and assist me to file my 
little flock in and out of the main school- 
room?” 

Ida gladly acceded, and felt the satisfac- 
tion which a fresh duty cheerfully undertaken 
always brings. 

As they passed the second class room on 
their . return to the first floor, Ida observed 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


123 


Mrs. Dabney lingering as she spoke to a group 
of women, some with infants in their arms — 
mothers who composed her class. One of 
them was weeping, and Ida saw her hold out 
a pink card to Mrs. Dabney, and heard her 
say : My little Katie brought it home to me 
from the meeting, but God brought it home to 
my heart.” 

With a thrill of pleasure she descended the 
stairway, to hear, as she reached the bottom, 
a gentleman remark to Mr. Barker, who held 
his hand in a firm grasp: “ Yes, I have asked 
myself the question, and now I have deter- 
mined to make the ‘best investment’ possible 
of my life. I have come to you. Barker, to 
show me how.” 

Ida longed to hear the reply, but not daring 
to loiter, she only caught Mr. Barker’s fervid 
“God bless you, Norton,’^ as she turned to as- 
sist one of her little charges as it stumbled 
beside her. 

“Already!” was the voiceless word that 
throbbed at her heart. Already had prayer 
been answered. Already had the sown seed 
borne fruit. Already had she been repaid for 
her hours of extra labor. 

As Mr. Barker resumed his place upon the 
platform and the closing hymn was sung, Ida’s 


124 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


voice had a joyous ring as it swelled the cho- 
rus: 

“ I will work, I will pray, 

I will labor every day, 

In the vineyard of the Lord.” 

And although the thought of the dear, dear 
mother, who was no longer with her to be 
gladdened by her new purposes of consecra- 
tion, brought a tear to her eye, yet it was not 
a bitter one, for in the depths of her heart was 
this precious conviction: “Surely service in 
in the cause of my mother’s God is sweet.” 


CHAPTEE XL 


“Annie,” said her brother Alfred the next 
day, “I know yon will be surprised, and I 
am very sure I am delighted to tell you that 
one of your little cards is having a good effect 
on Percy Norton.” 

Annie was instantly all animation and inter- 
est. “ Indeed! I do hope so. But why do you 
think it?” 

“Well, I handed him one the night they 
were distributed. I met him on the street and 
said, ‘Here is something you ought to think 
about — more important than real estate in- 
vestments,’ and passed on before he had time 
to read it. I did not see him again till last 
night — overtook him on the street. Where do 
you think he had been? To the night service 
at the mission.” 

“ He was there in the morning too, brother! ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Dabney. “ I saw him and Mr. 
Barker in earnest and, I thought, feeling con- 
versation just before the close of school.” 

“That’s it; he says Barker is the man for 
him; that he is his model, and as good a 

( 125 ) 


126 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


preacher as lie wants. He is an odd fellow, 
yon know, anyway; full of peculiarities, but 
with a great big heart, and is everybody’s 
friend.” 

“ I have always liked him, but he is one of 
the last men I should have thought of as be- 
ing influenced by either of those cards. He 
is so devoted to society, so very gay and reck- 
less; appears never to have a serious thought, 
and entirely neglectful of religion.” 

“Ah, sister, don’t let us be surprised or 
wonder at the answer to our prayers. Remem- 
ber those beautiful lines of Miss Havergal you 
read to me last night; 

‘ He said that he would hear 
And answer thy jioor prayer; and he had heard 

And proved his promise. Wherefore didst thou fear? 
Why marvel that thy Lord hath kept his word? 

More wonderful if he should fail to bless 

Expectant faith and prayer with good success.’ ” 

For reply, Mrs. Dabney stooped reverently 
and kissed the pure, white brow of the ear- 
nest speaker, and then their brother resumed: 
“We walked together several blocks and had 
quite a free conversation. I do not think it 
amiss for me to repeat it to you, because Nor- 
ton is such a free-spoken fellow I doubt not 
he would have told either of you the same had 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


-127 


it come in his way. He told me he did not 
read the card I gave him until he had gone to 
his room. It immediately attracted his atten- 
tion; in fact, held his thoughts as he lay awake 
upon his bed in the darkness and silence of 
the night, and his soliloquy ran in this way: 
‘I have but one life to live. That’s true, and 
it certainly is half gone now, and for aught I 
know more nearly gone than that. What is 
the best investment I can make of what re- 
mains?’ ‘Now I claim to be a fairly good 
business man. Cooper,’ he said, ‘and that 
word “investment” haunted me. For many 
years I had been seeking investments for 
other people and for myself too, weighing ad- 
vantages and disadvantages in every case; but 
as far as my life was concerned I had just 
drifted along year after year, “ floating on the 
surface of the occasion,” as the saying is; not 
asking nor caring why or whither; never think- 
ing that my life could be “ laid out ” to any bet- 
ter advantage'/' never striking any balance 
sheet of profit or loss in regard to this most 
valuable property of mine; never dreaming of 
using it to God’s glory or the benefit of my 
kind. Now the idea of regarding it as some- 
thing to be invested for such purposes con- 
fronted me, and would not leave me. It ab- 


128 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


solutely haunted me, as I told you; so Thurs- 
day night I accepted the invitation given me 
by the little card and went to the Morris Street 
Mission. I knew Barker well. He did not 
attempt to conceal his surprise at seeing me 
there, but expressed his pleasure and asked 
me to come again. I said nothing to him 
about the card. He thought I dropped in inci- 
dentally, I suppose, but this morning I told 
him my determination. I will make the “ best 
investment” I can of the rest of my life. It 
is heavily discounted, I know, by my reckless 
past. Old habits and associations will tax it 
severely, but I am determined to try. For 
one thing I will put myself in the way of 
good and good people, if I am never good 
myself.’ ” 

“I am truly glad to hear that,” said Mr. 
Cooper; ‘‘ and, my son, we must give Norton all 
the encouragement we can. He is impulsive, 
convivial, and excitable. He will have a hard 
fight to break away from lifelong customs. I 
am glad he fancies going to the mission. He 
will become interested in the poor and needy 
there, and that will keep him in the right way, 
for he is the soul of liberality.” 

He says he likes the lack of restraint and 
formality down there; that the singing suits 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


129 


his taste; in short, they seem to have ‘the old- 
time religion, and it’s good enough for him.’ 
But I must go down town.” 

“I will go with you, brother. Mrs. Gibbs 
was not in my class yesterday, and I heard she 
had sickness in her family. I understand it 
is a long distauce, mother; so I may not be 
back for hours.” 

Mrs. Dabney found that she had not been 
misinformed. A block beyond the car line, 
nestling at the foot of a thick growth of pine 
trees, on the very outskirts of the city, she 
found the cottage occupied by Mrs. Gibbs. 

Her rap being disregarded, she walked in, 
and the first glance around revealed to her 
the situation. The house contained two rooms 
with a dividing passage. One served the treble 
purpose of kitchen, dining room, and bedroom; 
the other was the general family room. It 
had a capacious fireplace, two doors, but no 
window, a few articles of furniture and two 
double bedsteads, on one of which lay the sick 
child, a boy of seven years. 

Little Johnny had had convulsions, and the 
doctor had prescribed a hot bath if symptoms 
of a return were seen. As Mrs. Dabney entered 
the room this prescription was being carried 
into effect in this manner: A small bucket 
9 


130 


ANNIE COOl^EIl’s FRIENDS. 


containing tepid water was held by one of liis 
brothers; while his father, sitting upon the 
bed, had the suffering child upon his lap, al- 
ternately tapping its legs and arms with 
a rag which he occasionally dipped into 
the bucket. The mother had fled the scene 
at the first approach of spasmodic indications, 
and sat in the hall without, her apron thrown 
over her head, her body rocking slowly back 
and forth, an occasional groan proving her 
terror and inefficiency. 

Mrs. Dabney saw that prompt measures were 
required; so beckoning the elder sister and 
brother (who were gazing petrified with alarm) 
to follow her, she hastened into the yard where 
she saw everything necessary to carry out 
the doctor’s instructions. Her orders were 
instantly obeyed. Jim seized the windlass 
and sent the well-bucket rattling to the bottom, 
while Cinthy raked up chips and started a 
blaze under the washpot. 

In a little while a large tub with water of 
the proper temperature was brought in; and 
stripping the little fellow, Mrs. Dabney put 
him in it, covering him to his throat with a 
blanket and placing a wet towel on his head. 
Soon the soothing influence was felt, the con- 
vulsed muscles relaxed, and when placed in 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


131 


bed warm and quiet he fell into a gentle slum- 
ber. The grateful parents looked at their bene- 
factress as if she were the angel of health with 
healing in her touch. 

But disease had invaded too deeply the cit- 
adel of the young life, and though appropri- 
ate remedies had called a halt, they could 
not definitely arrest his progress. Slowly but 
surely he marched on to the fatal end. 

Mrs. Dabney sat beside the bed, busied with 
watchful ministrations as the day wore slowly 
away. Deciding at last that she could not 
leave them in such distress, she left the house 
for a few moments, and sought the nearest 
store, where, finding a telephone, she commu- 
nicated with her mother, explaining the cir- 
cumstances which detained her. Then, return- 
ing to her self-imposed task, she quietly 
removed her hat, and told the tired mother 
she would remain and nurse her boy during the 
night. The rapid glance of apprehension, and 
the quivering lip showed the pulsing of a 
quickened fear as she vacated the seat beside 
the pillow and motioned her friend to occupy 
it. Wearied with their daily labors, the family 
yielded to her solicitations to rest, trusting to 
her promise to arouse them if the end drew 
near or consciousness returned. The little 


132 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


fellow had not responded by word or look to 
any effort to attract his attention for many 
hours. Deaf alike was his ear to the whisper 
of affection or the exclamation of despair. 
Earthquakes might convulse the solid earth 
or cyclone’s terrible sweep strike terror to all 
around him, still unmoved would he remain, un- 
heeding, unhearing every earthly sound. Yet 
who could deny that even then his ears were 
being attuned to the heavenly melodies in 
which he was so soon to take a part? 

Although the family were near by, the par- 
ents resting upon another bed in the same 
room, to all intents and purposes Mrs. Dab- 
ney was alone with the dying child, for the 
sleep of the laboring man is not only sweet, 
but very deep; and reposing confidence in her 
watchfulness and ability as a nurse, they aban- 
doned themselves to slumber. 

Mrs. Dabney’s duties during the night were 
few, and scarcely interrupted the meditations 
which filled the lonely hours. The fitful fire- 
light played on objects around, casting fantas- 
tic shadows on the rafters overhead, the flames 
now blazing brightly, now paling away till 
almost extinct, true type of hope in the hu- 
man heart. Through the open door the tall 
pines could be seen pointing heavenward, 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FKIENDS. 


133 


while in their tops the music of the night 
wind surged, whispering of the sweet harmo- 
nies above. Borne gently by the same soft 
zephyrs came the blending odors of those 
resinous pines, and the exquisite fragrance of 
the bay, growing in a swampy spot near by. 
A mocking bird poured forth its joyous carol, 
while in the intervals of its song could be 
heard the solemn, melancholy hoot of the dis- 
tant owl. Mrs. Dabney’s senses took note of 
these outer things, but her spirit was absorbed 
in higher contemplation. As she had estab- 
lished herself for the night in this lonely 
spot, amid such humble surroundings, and 
among comparative strangers, her heart made 
its cry for help and protection to Him in whose 
name she was there, and quickly as speed the 
wings of ministering angels did the answer 
come. Softer and sweeter than the night wind 
— its emblem — did the Holy Spirit manifest 
its approval, and the whisper, “ Ye did it unto 
me,” filled her heart with joy, as of distant 
music when faint far-away notes betoken the 
glorious symphony a nearer approach to the 
grand orchestra will disclose. Ye did it unto 
me!” Words of commendation worth a life 
of service, and yet for which we need not wait 
till life is over, for each loving act contains 


134 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


within itself the germ of bliss which shall ex- 
pand in eternity. 

The little patient moaned. Mrs. Dabney 
moistened his parched lips and gazed upon his 
wasted features. How changed he was from 
the merry child she had seen in his place in 
Sunday school! “ Safe in the arms of Jesus.” 
His mother had said it was his favorite hymn. 
Aye, he was reposing in those sheltering arms 
now, as surely as when the slight pulse was 
stilled and the panting breath had ceased. 
The mystery of life! the mystery of death! 
Mrs. Dabney pondered over those wonderful 
secrets with awe. Here was one made in the 
image of God, the breath of fche Eternal in- 
forming that little frame with life and caus- 
ing it to enshrine the never-dying soul. But 
there he lay, mute, unconscious, as if the heav- 
enly occupant paused awhile ere pluming its 
wings for the celestial flight. 

Whatever possibiltities may have been in- 
folded in the head or heart of this little child, 
born to toil and poverty, soon, ah ! very soon, 
would a higher, more extended sphere be his 
than human achievement could attain in this 
world of limited time and space. Could that 
heart, now fluttering faintly and more faint, 
have been in the future filled with “celestial 


ANNIE COOPEB’S FRIENDS. 


135 


fire, ’’could those feeble hands have swayed the 
‘‘rod of empire, or waked to ecstasy the living 
lyre,” would it be well to change the fiat which 
had gone forth, and, postponing the claim of 
mortality, let life resume its power, and for the 
short space of threescore years and ten do- 
nate all of wealth, of fame, and honor it could 
bestow on the one reclaimed from an early 
and unknown grave? O who would assume 
the responsibility of the awful decision ? Well 
for us all that life and death are not in our 
own hands. To the Great Dispenser we will- 
ingly, confidingly yield the trust. 

Gradually the early dawn appeared. As the 
faint eastern brightness increased, one by one 
the inmates of the cabin roused from their 
slumbers . and approached their loved one. 
“ No change for the better ” was apparent at a 
glance. It was useless to give voice to the fact, 
so with shaking heads and ill-suppressed sighs 
they turned away to attend to the pressing 
duties of life. As, in the wisdom and good- 
ness of God, labor is the salt of life, giving a 
relish to what might otherwise be insipid to 
repulsion, and thus blessing is evolved from 
original punishment, so it often comes about 
that imperative duties, labors of head and 
hand, are demanded when but for the absorp- 


136 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS 


tion they create the weight of grief would 
crush the stricken soul more heavily. 

The few urgent duties in the simple house- 
hold were performed, the frugal meal pre- 
pared and eaten, and the family gathered by 
the bedside to await whatever change might 
come. They did not have long to wait. It 
was still very early. The sun was but a little 
above the horizon when the labored, monoto- 
nous breathing paused, one slight shiver ran 
down the little frame, and with one long-drawn 
sigh, the change, “the wondrous change, the 
change stupendous,” came. 

A moment there, so low, 

And now, beyond the stars, 

The new immortal woke — 

Woke with his God. 

Kind neighbors came in; and Mrs. Dab- 
ney, perceiving that she was no longer needed, 
soon withdrew. At the unpretentious funer- 
al, however, she was the stay of the afflicted 
mother, who instinctively felt that her words 
of sympathy came from a heart where deep 
wounds had been healed by the only true 
Comforter. 

Claude Stanley placed flowers within her 
little pupil’s hands and strewed them over his 
grave, then led the song he had loved best. 


ANNIE COOPEE’S EKIENDS. 


137 


while a few of his little classmates stood 
around. It was a humble grave. No mar- 
ble shaft may mark it, doubtless the wild 
violet and daisy alone will deck the spot, 
but one of whom “such is the kingdom of 
heaven” lies sleeping there; and what mat- 
ters it if his name is quite forgotten on earth ? 
In the day when God makes up his jewels he 
will surely be remembered. 


CHAPTEE XII. 


Annie Coopek’s circle of friends was not 
composed exclusively of the companions of 
her girlhood, known in the joyous school 
days before ajffliction had lain — as many ac- 
knowledged — its beneficent hand upon her, be- 
cause by its means she had become a blessing 
to all who were brought within the radius of 
her influence or acquaintanceship. The young- 
er of these friends and their associates were 
fond of often coming into that bright, attract- 
ive room. They loved to visit the sweet inva- 
lid, and more than one had been heard to say 
that she believed Miss Annie was the hap- 
piest person she knew. Annie’s ready sym- 
pathy attracted them if they were sad, her 
quick intelligence suggested modes of exit out 
of their girlish troubles, her easy tact sqlved 
their perplexing problems. It was not to be 
wondered at, then, that the first afternoon of 
their summer vacation found a group of eman- 
cipated schoolgirls claiming her interest in a 
project which filled their active brains. 

( 138 ) 


ANNIE COOPEK’S FKIENDS. 


139 


With rapid and earnest speech Claude Stan- 
ley’s sister Berta began: “Miss Annie, you 
know we are the ‘Helpful Ten,’ of the King’s 
Daughters — ain’t it odd, we have six denomi- 
nations represented in our ‘Ten?’ Now, we 
are all tired of knitting and crocheting and 
embroidering and making candy and selling 
things, so we have come to ask you what we 
must do next. We can give more time to it 
because vacation has just begun. We want 
to make a great deal of money right away, for 
it is 90 much needed. You see poor old Mrs. 
McAfee is in so much trouble. Her son was 
badly hurt last week in a railroad accident. 
He was fireman, and the doctor says it will be 
a long time before he can work. He is a 
clever, industrious fellow, and has bought a 
little home for his mother on the installment 
plan. The payments are due every month, 
and of course they have running expenses, 
besides the doctor’s bill and all — and where 
is the money to come from?” And quite out 
of breath, with a sigh as if the responsibility 
all rested on her young shoulders, and palms 
extended in an appealing gesture, Berta paused 
and looked around at her audience. 

“ Bemember, Miss Ainiie, this money is not 
to be procured for Church purposes. We know 


140 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


how you disapprove of some kinds of enter- 
tainments when that is the object. But under 
the circumstances we have related we can have 
more latitude. Only please don’t tell us ‘ read- 
ing, music, and recitation: ’ we are tired of that 
and want something new.” Thus spoke Em- 
mie Herbert’s sister Cora. 

A pause ensued. Every eye was fastened 
on Annie, as if from her lips would issue 
notes which by some easy alchemy of their 
own would not need the touch of Midas to be 
transmuted into gold. 

At last she said: “Girls, I think of some- 
thing you may like, if we can persuade some 
one else to help us. At present we have a 
guest, Maj. Hargrove, an old college mate of 
papa’s. They had not met for many years, 
for the Major had been a great traveler. He 
returned to America but a few weeks since, 
laden with all manner of curios, among 
them a great variety of stereoscopic pictures 
and a powerful lantern with which to exhibit 
them. If we could persuade him to give an 
amateur entertainment for us, describing each 
scene, I think it would be a success. He is a 
most delightful talker.” 

In the midst of congratulatory hand-clap- 
pings and exclamations of approval, the por- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


141 


Here was drawn aside and a tall gentleman en- 
tered the room. “Ah, Miss Annie, I am a 
happy exception to the rule that listeners never 
hear good of themselves. Thank you for that 
compliment. You did not know that I had 
returned to the house since leaving it with 
your father directly after breakfast, and was 
engaged in letter-writing in the adjoining 
room. Portieres are not favorable for secret- 
keeping, but I suppose these young ladies will 
not object to them on that account when I 
say that I will willingly agree to Miss Annie’s 
plan, upon one condition.” 

With the reckless enthusiasm of schoolgirls 
they were ready to make any promise, but he 
proceeded: “When I was a young man, ta- 
bleaux were a favorite entertainment. I was 
fond of taking a part, and some of my happi- 
est recollections linger over those occasions. 
I know very well they are out of fashion now, 
but it would give me pleasure to look at some 
once more. I have also a fancy in regard to 
them. I am particularly fond of history. I 
enjoy tracing out the lessons it teaches. I 
think the young should roake it a study in a 
way to call from its vast stores those instances 
which can make us wiser and better. So I 
submit this suggestion: Let each one of you 


142 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


select some virtue, the one you think of most 
value, most admirable. Illustrate it with the 
most prominent instance your knowledge of 
history can supply. We can have a committee 
to decide which virtue is loftiest and has been 
most appropriately illustrated, and to the young 
lady to whose happy thought it is due I will 
beg leave to present this volume,” touching 
an elegantly bound and illustrated copy of 
Tennyson’s Poems, which lay upon Annie’s ta- 
ble. “ Of course,” he concluded, “ neither com- 
mittee nor spectators are to know during the 
exhibition which subject is the selection of 
any young lady. Now what say you?” 

A chorus of enthusiasm was his answer, and 
the girls’ next concern was when and ivliere. 
Annie thought they could make their prepara- 
tions in a w^eek. Maj. Hargrove suggested 
that if Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Dabney were 
willing to endure a little confusion for a few 
days he could arrange a stage and its environ- 
ment on the back piazza. The uncommonly 
■wide folding 'door of the hall could serve as a 
frame for the pictures. The broad passage, 
which extended the full length of the house, 
would thus allow for the perspective so nec- 
essary to enhance the beauty of each scene. 

“The main inducement for this plan,” he 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


143 


added, “is that my young friend, our Miss 
Annie, may enjoy the evening with us.” 

In the ensuing days many were the tete-a-tetes 
each girl held with Annie, confiding her selec- 
tion, and consulting about styles of costume, 
points in heraldry, scenic effects, etc. In vain 
Annie protested her inexperience in all mimic 
representations. They declared her taste was 
always best, and the seal of her approbation 
was necessary for their decision. 

At last the appointed evening came. The 
stage properties were all prepared. 'Simple 
materials had been transformed into royal 
robes and gorgeous effects. The last re- 
hearsal had taken place, and everything pro- 
nounced complete. As the “Helpful Ten” 
peeped from behind the curtain they saw, 
with delight, that the company was larger 
than they had expected, and their hearts beat 
with pleasure as they thought of poor old 
Mrs. McAfee.” 

Mr. Cooper, in a few W’ords, stated the scope 
and design of the entertainment. A commit- 
tee was appointed to decide in which tableau 
the loftiest virtue was most aptly illustrated. 
A bell behind the scenes was rung and the 
curtain rose. 

First, a brilliant duet by unseen musicians. 


144 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FEIENDS. 


As tlie stirring strains of La Marseillaise 
thrilled every one with a feeling of preparation 
for what might follow, the word “ Patriotism ” 
appeared in letters of light above the arch, 
from which depended curtains that were 
silently withdrawn, and upon the stage this 
picture was portrayed: A platform, tall and 
slight, upon which stood a fair maiden, 
in flowing robes of white. A crucifix was 
clasped to her breast, and with upturned 
eyes she seemed to implore from above 
that mercy which her cruel enemies de- 
nied her here. Beside her was a Dominican 
monk, forgetful of the approaching danger, 
while altogether absorbed in his prayers for 
her. Below, the executioners, about to ap- 
ply the flaming torch to the frail structure. 
Around were stern, unpitying English soldiery, 
the vindicative Bishop of Beauvais in the fore- 
ground, his mitered brow scowling revenge- 
ful hate upon his innocent victim. A murmur 
of admiration and sympathy was heard, and 
Joan of Arc, though for four centuries she 
had rested in a sleep in which no dreams of 
the crown or lilies of France had come, was 
now crowned in thought a martyred queen of 
suffering and of strength. 

The curtain fell. The fiery letters paled. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


145 


and in tlieir stead shone out the sweet word 
“Mercy.” A clear, soft voice repeated: 

"The quality of mercy is not strained; 

It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed : 

It blesses him that gives, and him that takes ; 

’Tis mightiest in the mighty ; it becomes 
The throned monarch — better than his crown.” 

Again the curtain was uplifted, and a regal 
tent, with England’s coat of arms conspic- 
uously emblazoned, occupied the left fore- 
ground. In the distance the battlemented 
walls of a fortified town were to be seen. Six 
men, erect and resolute in appearance, the 
ropes around their necks, strangely in discord 
with their heroic mien, were upon the right. 
A little in advance of them an English knight, 
clad in armor, extended the keys of a city to 
his royal master, who stood in the door of 
the tent, his glance of stern displeasure soft- 
ening beneath the resistless pleading of his 
kneeling wife. So the faithful, beloved Phi- 
lippa, in prevailing upon Edward III. to have 
mercy upon the noble patriots of Calais, 
shielded her husband’s character from a blot 
which could not have been erased by the glory 
of Cr^cy or Poitiers. 

The merry strains of music beguiled the 
10 


146 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


few waiting moments before the next scene. 
A choice medley of national airs, beginning 
with “ Hail Columbia,” and as the last majestic 
measures of “God Save the Queen” ceased, 
the brilliant word “Obedience ” flashed out, and 
the opening curtains revealed a British ship 
of the line, its union jack floating at half 
mast. The red glare and fierce crackling 
sound, with here and there a tongue of flame 
flashing toward the rigging, denoted a victory 
of the fire fiend. The lonely figure on deck 
— standing “beautiful and bright,” with head 
thrown back and strained eye looking for the 
father who came not, who, “ cold in death, his 
voice no longer heard ” — was instantly recog- 
nized by all. Then were heard the words: 
“ Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and 
to hearken than the fat of rams.” At this 
scene Alfred Cooper led off in enthusiastic ap- 
plause, for Cora Herbert was a pet of his, and 
had won him to aid her brother and herself in 
the disposition of calcium lights and other ar- 
tifices to make this delineation of her hero as 
realistic as possible. Cora’s satisfaction with 
the result was evident, for as the curtain fell 
she rushed upon the “deck,” assuring her 
brother that he had made “ a glorious Casa- 
bianca!” 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


147 


When next the curtain rose it was again upon 
a royal scene, the legend “ Conjugal Devotion ” 
glittering overhead. Within a tent, regal 
yet military in its appointments, with buckler 
and lance, helmet and coat of mail, of the 
style of the thirteenth century, upon a couch 
lay a kingly sufferer. His bared arm was ex- 
tended and firmly held by his beautiful young 
wife, who, with unfaltering bravery, had fas- 
tened her lips to the deadly wound made by 
the Saracen’s poisoned dagger, and at the risk 
of her own life was drawing out the fatal 
fluid. Knights and surgeons gazed in silent 
admiration as Queen Eleanor, with devoted 
heroifem, showed her willingness to die for 
Edward I., her husband and her king. 

Now the sweet chant of Kuth’s exquisite ap- 
peal to her husband’s mother, “Entreat me 
not to leave thee!” was sung by sweet young 
voices, so that when “Friendship ” was brightly 
outlined the company expected the interview 
between the fair, devoted Moabitess and the 
bitterly bereaved Naomi. In the background, 
under a spreading cedar tree, loitered Orpah, 
looking regretfully back at the figures she was 
leaving, while Euth, with pleading face raised 
to the sad one by her side, threw one arm 
around the drooping form, and with gentle 


148 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FEIENDS. 


force guided the faltering footsteps in the 
path, little dreaming, as she left parents, 
kindred, and native land, for her friend’s sake, 
that she was to become, in the home of her 
fidoption, mother to the royal line of Hebrew 
kings. 

“Filial Affection” was the next illumination, 
and the parted curtains disclosed stern and 
resolute soldiers, in armor akin to that of 
Eome when she stood a proud republic. The 
central figure, grim and unbending, a very 
Mars, with face averted to avoid his mother’s 
eloquent entreaties; yet the hand extended to 
receive the petition presented to him on bended 
knee by the noble Roman matron, accompanied 
by his wife and children, all bowed in suppli- 
cation, showed that they had prevailed, and 
though Coriolanus might die, Rome had been 
saved. The Eternal City spared, revenge fore- 
gone, ambition yielded because of a mother’s 
importunity. 

Gems from several operas were played; then 
the glimmer of lights revealed “ Self-denial.” 
A battle scene! broken weapons and wound- 
ed men! One noble figure, in costly armor, 
stretched upon the ground; close by, a hum- 
ble unknown soldier; both pale and suffering, 
their lifeblood welling slowly forth. An at- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


149 


tendant hands the former a generous draught 
of water, but with the grace and fortitude of 
a hero, the peerless Sidney waves it* toward 
his gasping comrade. As they gazed, many 
recalled the generous words: “Give it to him; 
his necessity is greater than mine.” 

A few chords upon the piano, and Bayard 
Taylor’s “Song of the Camp,” appropriately 
introduced the next virtue: “Humanity.” A 
hospital ward, whitewashed walls, narrow cots, 
on which lay wan and wasted figures : 

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, 

And from the banks of Shannon. 

A gentle, patient figure bending oyer “ some- 
body’s darling,” smoothing his pillow, brush- 
ing his heavy locks from the damp brow, 
whispering words of comfort and of hope, 
untiring, inspiring, devoted. No wonder the 
soldier who sung of “Annie Laurie” — and 
who some “Irish Nora,” or “English Mary” 
may soon mourn for with dim eyes and aching 
heart — bends from his pillow and kisses the 
shadow on the wall of the saintly Florence 
Nightingale. 

And now the spectators were aware that but 
one more picture was to be seen, and then the 
committee would retire. What would the 


150 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


next virtue be? In a moment curiosity was at 
rest as “Forgiveness” shone out in clear and 
steady gleam. A brilliant light from above 
streamed down upon the head of a kneeling 
figure. The upturned face reflected the radi- 
ance, and the earnest eyes gazed as if they 
would pierce into tfie “far beyond.” Rocks 
of various sizes were scattered around him. 
Angry bearded men, with looks of hate and 
malice, were in the act of hurling at him not 
anathemas only, but heavy, cruel stones; their 
rage-distorted countenances contrasting with 
the calm serenity of their victim. A deep, 
solemn voice repeated: “Lord, lay not this 
sin to their charge! ” And the martyrdom of 
St. Stephen was concealed by the falling cur- 
tain. 

A buzz of conversation ensued, seats were 
vacated, positions changed, and in a few min- 
utes, a touch of the bell producing silence, the 
chairman of the awarding committee announced 
that in their opinion “ Forgiveness ” had been 
the most noble virtue, and most happily il- 
lustrated, adding: “The young lady to whom 
we are indebted for this delineation, we take 
pleasure in stating, is Miss Grace Hunt.” Maj. 
Hargrove, with the “Tennyson” in his hand, 
advanced toward the young girl, who modestly 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


151 


rose to receive it. Before placing the volume 
in her hands, however, he expressed his thanks 
and those of the audience to all who had con- 
tributed to the pleasant entertainment just 
over. To the girls for their selections and 
designs; to the boys — the brothers, cousins, 
and sweethearts (?)— who had so ably as- 
sisted them in carrying them into execution. 
“Through our eyes our hearts have been 
profited, lessons learned we should never for- 
get; none more valuable, believe me, than the 
one you have taught us, my dear young lady. 
In accepting this book, I beg you to remem- 
ber the giver, and his assurance that the pre- 
cepts so taught have impressed him this hour 
as never before.” 

This unwonted solemnity of tone and man- 
ner attracted general attention; but as the sec- 
ond part of the programme was now due, Maj. 
Hargrove’s brow cleared, and he addressed 
himself to fulfilling his promise to his young 
friends. For another hour the audience 
were charmed by his eloquent descriptions 
of the various scenes his stereopticon re- 
vealed. 

Then Berta Stanley confided to Annie that 
not only had the door receipts been more than 
she had anticipated, but several gifts had been 


152 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FEIENDS. 


added, exclaiming, with a quiver of impa- 
tience: “We can hardly wait till to-morrow to 
carry the good news to poor old Mrs. McAfee, 
who hasn’t the least suspicion of any of it, 
you know.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


As the family of Mrs. Cooper lingered over 
the breakfast table the next morning, natu- 
rally enough discussing the events of the pre- 
vious evening, a servant announced that Miss 
Grace Hunt desired to see Maj. Hargrove. 
Her errand, it appears, was a request from her 
mother that he would call to see her, as she 
was anxious to thank him for his present and 
kind words to her daughter the night before. 

Assuring Grace of the pleasure it would 
give him to do so, he prepared at once to ac- 
company her. A few minutes’ walk brought 
them to their destination ; and Grace, catching 
a glimpse of her mother through the sitting 
room window, ushered her companion at once 
into that room. 

Her surprise was unbounded when Major 
Hargrove suddenly stood still, exclaiming, 
“Edith, my sister, is it possible?” while her 
mother sprang to his embrace, with a joyful 
cry of “Harry, dear brother, thank God, I see 
you once more ! ” 

Then came words of explanation and mutual 

( 153 ) 


154 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


confession, and Grace learned that years ago 
this sister and brother, once devotedly at- 
tached, had become estranged, or rather the one 
had displeased the other by marrying contrary 
to his wishes. They had parted in anger, 
then lost sight of each other, she removing 
from her native State, he becoming a wanderer 
on the face of the earth. To his gentle re- 
proaches that she should have allowed a week 
to pass, after knowing of his proximity, with- 
out revealing herself to him, she replied: “Ah, 
you are mistaken there, brother. Grace was 
not at Mrs. Cooper’s the day you spoke to the 
girls. She only knew ‘ a gentleman ’ had offered 
the prize. I knew your name only last night 
after she had returned with the book you gave 
her, upon the title-page of which I saw it. 
Then your closing remark to Grace, which she 
repeated to me, convinced me that my plea for 
pardon would not be in vain, but that you 
would take your widowed sister to your heart 
again.” 

For a moment the springing tears in his 
eyes answered those which bedewed her face; 
then he said: “Dear Edith, if time and ab- 
sence had not already obliterated my unrea- 
sonable anger, the thoughts brought to me last 
night, through this sweet child, would force me 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


155 


to feel that if I withheld from you the most 
pomplete and loving reconciliation I would 
cry in my need and deserve never to be heard. 
No, no, henceforth we shall be as in the days 
of old. Your daughter shall find a father in 
me. The old bachelor brother shall come to 
anchor at last, and be happier than he has 
been for many long years. 

Maj. Hargrove did not return to Mr. 
Cooper’s until near twilight, when the family 
were gathered on the broad veranda. The 
relation of his day’s experience filled them 
with sympathy and delight.” 

“It is quite like a novel,” said Alfred. “ Who 
could have imagined such a charming romance 
would have followed the , old-fashioned ta- 
bleau?” 

“They were the immediate cause of it,” re- 
plied Maj. Hargrove. “If it had not oc- 
curred to me to suggest them, my sister would 
have remained in ignorance of my being here, 
and we probably would not have met.” 

“It was a kind providence,” said Mrs. Dab- 
ney; and Annie whispered softly, “There is a 
divinity that shapes our ends.” 

“I was so impressed with our concluding 
tableau last night,” said Mrs. Cooper, “that I 
decided to select its lesson for the subject of 


156 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


our ladies’ prayer meeting which I was to lead 
this afternoon. You will excuse this personal 
allusion,” bowing to Maj. Hargrove, “as I 
desire so much for you all to know of the 
wonderful narration we heard. Our meeting 
was interesting from the beginning. The la- 
dies spoke freely, quoting and commenting on 
appropriate texts. Our hearts were tendered 
by the contemplation of the forgiving love of 
our Saviour as exhibited in his life and death, 
and to us in our individual experiences. We 
sung feelingly: 

‘ My God is reconciled, 

His pard’ning voice I hear: 

He owns me for his child, 

I can no longer fear.^ 

And I was about to close, when a gentle 
voice said: ‘Sisters, God has been very gra- 
cious to me. I feel that I must glorify his 
name by acknowledging what his grace has 
done for me.’ It was Mrs. Gilmore. Annie, 
you remember her sad case. She is a widow 
lady. Major, whose younger son, a promising 
young man, was deliberately shot down in the 
street by an intoxicated stranger, the most 
unprovoked assault that can be imagined. It 
happened a few years ago. The community was 
outraged, for poor young Gilmore lived but a 


ANNIE COOPEK’s FRIENDS. 


157 


few hours.. In the subsequent trial the plea 
of insanity was urged and sustained, his slayer 
was sent to an asylum for awhile; but in the 
course of time, being adjudged cured, was re- 
leased. Mrs. Gilmore is an exceedingly mod- 
est and timid person, and it was with difficulty 
that she could relate to us her experience. She 
began by saying that she supposed all present 
knew of the great and peculiar affiiction she had 
endured, but she wished to declare that God 
had redeemed every pledge and fulfilled every 
promise in her behalf. With simple pathos 
she told of the overwhelming shock when, 
without any preparation, her dying son was 
brought to her, and how immediately she felt 
the “everlasting arms ” around her with sus- 
taining power. She said her prayer was for 
his soul. She did not believe he was prepared 
to die; so her whole being went forth in an 
agony of supplication for his salvation, as he 
lay apparently unconscious before her. Even 
then, mingled with those petitions, came cries 
for mercy and pardon on him who was the 
murderer of her boy! They came, she said, 
almost involuntarily, bringing with them a 
feeling of satisfaction that she was free from a 
spirit of vengeance. Not long was she able to 
agonize in prayer for her dear boy. His life 


168 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


ebbed fast away, but the faint smile^and pres- 
sure of his hand ere his spirit fled were re- 
ceived by her faith as a seal that her prayers 
were heard. Then came to her such yearning 
for the distressed parents of the drunken 
youth, and for his soul in its fearful jeopardy. 
These entreaties for their consolation and his 
forgiveness held in abeyance awhile the an- 
guish of her own bereavement. 

“As the pure saint spoke, her face seemed to 
us to shine with the inward illumination that 
had made Stephen’s appear ‘ as it had been the 
face of an angel.’ When she ceased, there 
was a solemn silence. The Holy Spirit was 
within each heart, ‘bringing to our remem- 
brance’ our deep unworthiness. We had 
been basking in the light and warmth of God’s 
forgiveness to us, and singing that we could 
‘ no longer fear,’ but had we regarded the con- 
ditions of such confidence? Was it not writ- 
ten, ‘If ye forgive not men their trespasses, 
neither will your heavenly Father forgive 
you?’ Who of us could stand that test? 
Who of us could have risen to the lofty height 
that our sister had reached? I could only say, 
‘Let us pray.’ I could only use the words 
our Saviour taught us, and I believe that we 
all repeated more humbly, more sincerely, 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


159 


with a deeper appreciation of its meaning than 
ever before, ‘ Forgive us our trespasses as we 
forgive.’ ” 

“Mother,” said Annie, “do you remember, 
at the first prayer meeting our Epworth 
League held here, that Mr. Wilkinson quoted 
Miss Havergal’s prayer, ‘ Prepare me, O Lord, 
for what thou art preparing for me?’ It 
comes to my mind now in connection with Mrs. 
Gilmore’s wonderful ability to forgive. After 
the first burst of grief, if she had prayed her- 
self into a forgiving spirit, we would have 
viewed her with admiration, but in the trans- 
ports of a new and awful sorrow to pray spon- 
taneously — if I may use the word — for the 
author of her affliction appears to me to have 
been an answer to a prayer like that. It is as 
if stores of grace for that hour had been ac- 
cumulating in her behalf, in answer to confid- 
ing prayers offered in her past life, and our 
admiration should grow into imitation.” 

“ May we not believe that He, who ever liv- 
eth to make intercession for them who come 
unto God by him, had prayed for her that her 
faith should fail not?” 

“This certainly has been an interesting 
day,” remarked Mrs. Dabney. “ I am glad I 
can contribute an item which should stimu- 


160 


ANNIE COOPEE’S EEIENDS. 


late as well as delight. This afternoon I paid 
a visit to my young friend, Mrs. Armstrong, 
who, some months ago, Maj. Hargrove, lost 
her baby boy. The family are deeply inter- 
ested in the missionary cause, and determined, 
instead of putting aside little Arthur’s mite 
box as no longer needed, they would adopt it 
as a memorial casket, each one placing in it 
their contributions as inclination prompted. 
At first they had no other idea than to let the 
total sum be merged in the fund which the 
church of which they were members devoted 
to the support of its chosen missionary. 
To increase interest, and educate the little 
cousins in the grace of giving, a monthly 
family meeting was held in the parlor of the 
grandparents, at which the little ones recited 
and sung, the grandfather talked and led in 
prayer, and their offerings were received’ 
Their receipts grew larger at every meeting, 
until finally the suggestion was made by an 
aunt, ‘ Why could we not have our own mis- 
sionary, supported entirely by ourselves?’ 
From one and another then came the response, 
‘Why not?’ ‘Why not?’ and thus it was de- 
cided. Application to their Board of Mis- 
sions resulted in their being put in communi- 
cation with a young man already in Japan. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


161 


Mrs. Armstrong showed me a letter received 
to-day from him. Her father had written him 
all the circumstances in the case. They had 
proved a tender bond to connect him with 
those who had selected him to labor for their 
darling’s sake. Then his dependence upon 
them had incited them to new resolves of self- 
denial and faithfulness. It requires self-de- 
nial to enable them to provide means for his 
maintenance. They are by no means rich, 
each member of the family working for his 
own support; still the uncles, and aunts, and 
little cousins in their degree, as well as the 
grandparents, feel as intense interest in ‘Lit- 
tle Arthur’s Mission’ as the bereaved young 
parents themselves. All seem to act upon 
the beautiful thought of Thomas 6. Kempis: 

‘ Thus must thou stand. 

If thou wouldst walk with me ; 

Ready for suffering as for joy. 

As willing to be poor and portionless 
As to be full and rich.’ ” 

“I never heard anything to equal it,” said 
Maj. Hargrove, with much earnestness; “but 
then I can honestly admit that I have seen 
and heard very many things that are new 
to me since becoming a member of your de- 
lightful family circle. I hope they may be to 
11 


162 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


my profit and advantage. Cooper, I bless the 
day you gave me the invitation to visit you. 
Not only has it been the means of reuniting 
my sister and myself, bringing my aimless 
wanderings to a haven of rest and love, but 
for the first time in my life have I been the 
inmate of a Christian family where the abid- 
ing impulse was to imitate Him who went 
about doing good.” 


CHAPTEE XIV. 


“I AM in a straight betwixt two, Annie,” was 
the confession of Olive Hastings, as she 
greeted her friend one Monday morning. “ I 
fear I will have a problem to solve beyond my 
ability.” 

“Can I assist you in your dilemma?” 

“I fear not, dear. The perplexity has not 
reached me yet, but it looms up in threaten- 
ing proportions. The trouble is that the 
Sunday school at St. Peter’s, which has always 
met in the afternoon, is thinking seriously of 
changing to the morning. An election will 
be held next Sunday, and if it is in favor of 
the change, what shall I do? I cannot give 
up my boys at St. Peter’s, nor can I forsake 
my girls at the mission. I cannot be in two 
places at once. I fear it is a case of an irre- 
sistible force opposed to an immovable body! ’' 
“Or, ‘how happy would you be with either 
were t’other dear charmer away.’ ” 

“Exactly. Scylla and Chary bdis, and so 
on. However, I will not distress myself till 
the change is made.” 


( 163 ) 


164 ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 

“It may never be,” were Annie’s encourag- 
ing words. 

“Anyhow I will have a week in which to 
electioneer,” replied Olive, laughingly, “and 
I promise you I will make an exhaustive can- 
vass of the voters.” 

“ What does Claude Stanley say about 
it?” 

“O she decides readily that she will yield 
her class at St. Peter’s and cling to the mis- 
sion. You see her class in the former school 
consists of boys aged ten and eleven. She 
does not feel that she is necessary to them, but 
that her place can be easily supplied; while at 
the mission she has her room of eighty little 
tots, and it is plain she could not be spared 
there. It requires only one visit, while she 
is teaching there, to demonstrate her peculiar 
fitness for the position, and the children love 
her so. Then she is training Ida Page to fill 
her place, if in future she is obliged to vacate 
it.” 

“Sister mentioned the subject last night, 
and told brother Alfred she would commit her 
class to his care, if the change was made, and 
he must select some other hour for his jail 
visitations.” 

“I feel sure Mrs. Dabney would not leave 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


165 


her class of women; no one could fill her place 
with them, and — I do not mean to say my 
place could not be filled, but I can’t give up 
my classes. My boys are fine fellows, averag- 
ing sixteen years of age; all are bright and 
studious, and stand well in the day schools. 
Their interest and unexpected questions in- 
spire me to deep study in many lines. The 
short time in Sunday school is not enough 
for us, so they come to my house every Frida;^ 
evening and we have charming meetings. We 
are studying Bible history now: geography, 
antiquities, and other cognate subjects. At 
present we are absorbed in Egypt, and my 
boys are developing a curiosity about the re- 
cent excavations there, sarcophagi, papyri, and 
all the rest. How they did enjoy Maj. Har- 
grove’s pictures of Karnak and the mummied- 
Pharaohs! ” 

“I think no one could supply your place to 
them, Olive.” 

“Well, somehow we inspire each other. 
Every three months we review what we have 
learned, and one boy is our historian, another 
the geographer; we have an antiquarian, a 
poet, a biographer, and so bn. Some of the 
essays are admirable. Tom Herbert’s, on 
“Fulfilled Prophecy,” would do credit to a 


166 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


much older student. I will bring it to you to 
read. Then I throw in a little missionary 
study along with the rest. When I gave 
them the item that the American United Pres- 
byterian Mission, after being establishad in 
Egypt about thirty years, had a membership 
of over twelve hundred who gave eighteen 
dollars per capita annually for missions, their 
surprise was as great as mine had been. We 
will have to leave England next month, I sup- 
pose, and move on; we have a four years 
course vaguely in view.” 

“ I wish there were more teachers like you, 
Olive.” 

“O there are no finer boys than mine in 
the city; so responsive and studious. I wish 
to do my very best for them. I feel my re- 
sponsibility deeply. When I first took this 
class one year ago, I entered into a solemn 
covenant with God in their behalf. I prayed 
that their souls might be given me as my hire. 
Each Sunday, as I stood before my class, I 
thought perhaps before another Sunday one of 
my scholars might die. Then what if I had 
been unfaithful ? Perhaps I might die. Then 
how should I render my account? You can 
judge of my gratitude and joy as one after 
another was converted and joined the Church. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 167 

George Stanley was the first. He entered 
into an agreement with me to pray for the 
others, and so did each one as he experienced 
the blessed change. I believe they are all 
truly pious youths. Now, I feel that my in- 
fiuence will not end when I am dead. It may 
be indirect, but it will be multiplied, and it 
encourages me to exert myself to the utmost 
of my power for their benefit, constantly seek- 
ing the aid of the Holy Spirit. Do you won- 
der that I cannot sever our connection?” 

“No, indeed, Olive; 1 congratulate you on 
your mutual relations, but wonder where is 
room for your dilemma. Surely the mission 
girls can’t interest you as much.” 

“Ah, my poor girls! I am deeply interested 
in each one of them. I have taught them 
long enough for them to be convinced of that, 
and they have given me their confidence, and 
know I am their friend. One has a drunken 
father, another a termagant stepmother, a 
third is an orphan, and the bread of depend- 
ence is made very bitter to her. All have to 
work early and late, either in factories or 
stores. I have an evening for them too, 
when I teach them to sew, to make and 
mend — they are lamentably ignorant— while 
I read and talk to them, to the very best 


168 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


of my knowledge and judgment, about sub- 
jects that will help toward character building, 
that will create a just self-respect and appre- 
ciation of their duties as daughters and sisters. 
I have just begun to see a promise of reward 
for my etforts. No, indeed, I cannot give up 
my girls.” 

“Well, dear Olive, I hope you will have no 
occasion to decide. I think I must do a little 
^ lobbying ’ too, and have ‘ the question laid on 
the table.’ ” 

“Are you talking about the proposition to 
change the hours of Sunday school, girls ? ” 
asked Mrs. Cooper, who had just entered; “you 
cannot object to it more than I do. My rea- 
sons are so decided that, although I am not a 
teacher, I will take the liberty of expressing 
them freely, hoping others may see their force. 
My objections to holding Sunday school before 
morning service are, first, that small children 
become too tired, or rather it is conceded that 
they are, to remain to the sermon with its ac- 
companying worship. The Sunday school 
should not and cannot supply the place of 
preaching, and the public prayer and praise 
of God’s house. My second objection is that 
the young people, boys and youths especially, 
having no service to interest them in the after- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


169 


noon, spend the time in a worse than idle 
manner, an(J rapidly lose the sense of the 
sanctity of the holy day. These considera- 
tions have heretofore made me glad that the 
school of onr church was held in the after- 
noon. It brings a feeling of sadness to me 
every Sunday to meet the stream of children 
from many schools returning to their homes 
instead of joining their parents in the more 
formal worship in which they were about to 
engage. It is not training them up in the 
way they should go. Such was not the case 
when I was a girl. We were required to at- 
tend church regularly — after a morning school 
too — and thought it no hardship. Now it is 
depressing to look over a large congregation 
and miss the lambs of the flock.” 

“I agree with you perfectly, Mrs. Cooper; 
but do you not think one reason for their ab- 
sence is that the lambs are not properly fed 
by our shepherds? How seldom is the milk 
for babes dispensed to theml The strong 
meat, which may be most palatable and nutri- 
tious for the adults, cannot be assimilated by 
them.” 

“You are right. It is the rare exception 
when anything is said from the pulpit for 
their express instruction, in language suited 


170 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FRIENDS. 


to their understanding. Occasionally I have 
heard sermons that would edify^and delight 
the family y but not often. I admit it must be 
a most difficult achievement. Still, five or ten 
minutes’ talk to the little ones, before the ser- 
mon, would surely be of great advantage.” 

“Yes; the children would feel that their 
instruction was considered of importance by 
their pastor, and would undoubtedly be in- 
duced to give closer attention, and endeavor 
to understand the sermon. I have read the 
testimony of ministers who practiced the 
‘ sermonette ’ system, and it is to the effect 
that it is of inestimable value.” 

“It must be,” said Annie, “for the conver- 
sion of the children should be the first object 
in all teaching, and nothing that can conduce 
to that should be overlooked or minified. I 
think I will call the attention of dear Mr. 
Wilkinson to the ‘sermonette’ system. He 
loves children so much, and takes such a deep 
interest in the Sunday school and juvenile 
missionary society, that perhaps he would be 
pleased to adopt that plan. Probably it has 
never occurred to him.” 

“Does Mr. Norton continue to attend the 
mission, Olive?” asked Mrs. Cooper. 


ANNIE COOPEB’s FBIENDS. 


171 


‘‘ Indeed, lie does. He is there promptly on 
time, ready to receive strangers and take them 
by the hand. He becomes acquainted with 
the boys and interests himself with them dur- 
ing the week, finding them employment and 
aiding them to improve their condition. He 
has helped several boys out of scrapes, brought 
them to the mission, prevailed on them to at- 
tend regularly, and started them at honest 
work. Wherever there is distress he is to be 
found, and, as his kind heart is supplement- 
ed by a well-filled purse, his liberality at the 
mission has been conspicuous.” 

“Mr. Cooper predicted that,” said Mrs. 
Cooper. “I am glad it has been verified.” 

“Yes; he takes almost as much interest as 
Mr. Barker himself. He is his able lieuten- 
ant. By the way, next Sunday is Mr. Barker’s 
birthday. The girls tell me that they wish to 
celebrate it in some way. I hope the pleasure 
of the day will not be marred by the result of 
the voting at St. Peter’s in the afternoon. We 
will wait and see.” 

Mr. Cooper’s solicitude for his afflicted 
child’s pleasure had long ago suggested con- 
necting her room by telephone with St. Pe- 
ter’s pulpit. Annie Ig-ughingly boasted that 


172 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


she had an advantage over every other member 
of the congregation; for, regardless of wind 
or weather, she could enjoy the services com- 
fortably reclining on her couch. Mr. Wilkin- 
son had said that he was always sure of one 
attentive listener, and often while preaching 
he would think of her and it would act as an 
inspiration to him. It was pleasant to her to 
be able to talk with the family, upon their re- 
turn from church, over what had been said, 
when they would supply explanations, if nec- 
essary, of what had been done. 

On this particular Sunday, however, the 
first questions that greeted Annie’s sister 
upon her return were concerning the mis- 
sion and the celebration of Mr. Barker’s 
birthday. 

“There were no gorgeous ceremonials,” 
smilingly said Mrs. Dabney, “but enough to 
gratify him very much: an oval tablet on the 
wall, consisting of a very large evergreen 
wreath, surrounding an inscription formed 
with letters of the same material, and declar- 
ing the affection and confidence felt by the 
school for their beloved superintendent, and 
invoking God’s blessing on him and his in- 
creased usefulness for years to come. Upon 
the platform was erected an arch to corre- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


173 


spoud, with the words ‘ God forever bless you ’ 
inwrought in it. Under it was his chair, lit- 
erally covered with flowers. The birthday 
gift was simple, but presented with childish 
grace by one of Claude’s little band. It was a 
handsome fountain pen, which Mr. Barker, 
with kindly tact, declared in his words of 
thanks to be of all things in the world that 
which he most desired and would find most 
useful. Some appropriate verses, composed 
by Emmie Herbert and arranged to a familiar 
air, were sung — and pleasure beamed on every 
face.” 

“Now I hope indeed,” said Annie, “that 
the day will bring increased pleasure to Olive 
by St. Peter’s school deciding not to change 
their hour.” 

“ I can telephone you as soon as it is de- 
cided.” 

“No, thank you, sister; Olive has prom- 
ised to come immediately to tell me. I will 
wait till I see her, prepared to rejoice or 
mourn as the demand is made on my sym- 
pathies.” 

When Olive’s beaming face appeared, An- 
nie instantly knew that rejoicing was in order 
before her friend exclaimed with a triumph- 
ant tone: “My boys declared that we would 


174 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


contimie our Friday evening studies, even if 
I did desert them for their rivals at the mis- 
sion; but,” she continued, slowly shaking her 
head, “ I am glad indeed that the ' immovable 
hody^ of the mission was not exposed to the 
^irresistible force* of St. Peter’s!” 


CHAPTEB XV. 


Among other acts of kindness Mrs. Dabney 
was fond of conferring was that of taking to 
drive, in her pony phaeton, those who could 
not otherwise enjoy such a pleasure. The 
gentle little bay seemed'^to have a full under- 
standing of the situation, and never by start 
or jerk would occasion a nervous tremor to 
the most timid invalid. 

Upon returning one afternoon from a “ good 
Samaritan excursion,” as her brother playful- 
ly termed it, she gave Annie an account of the 
enjoyment her companion had shown during 
the drive. 

“We went by the old stone bridge, Annie, 
stopping at the sulphur spring for a good 
draught, and then to the park. The band 
was playing, and positively I fancied Lizzie 
Higgins’s color rose as I gazed at her. Her 
eyes brightened, and when I set her down at 
her doleful factory lodging house she looked 
younger, stronger, and better than when we 
started.” 

“She had been sick so long. I know it did 
her good.” 


(- 175 ) 


176 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


‘‘Why, she was so listless that it was with 
difficulty I could persuade her to go with me. 
‘She knew she could not stand it;’ she said, 
‘she was so weak;’ and no wonder, pent up in 
those stifling rooms. The lack of fresh air 
alone is enough to make her sick. I am glad 
of one thing: the temptation to resume work 
before she is able will be removed from 
her. She told me that the factory will be 
closed the first of the month for about two 
weeks for necessary repairs. So she will have 
a needed rfest which she would not otherwise 
take.” 

Then Mrs. Dabney left the room to remove 
her hat and gloves. In the few moments of 
her absence, however, Annie, with her usual 
rapidity of thought, had evolved a plan which 
she at once proceeded to lay before her for 
approval and cooperation. 

“Sister, you know how often we have read 
accounts in Northern periodicals of the suc- 
cess of the ‘Fresh Air ’ enterprises, as they are 
called? We have spoken, you remember, of 
how gratified we would be to do something of 
that sort. I think our opportunity has now 
come.” 

“How, dear?” 

‘ ‘I would not try to obtain lodgings in farm- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


177 


houses for two or three children, as is the gen- 
eral way, carrying out as many as can be so 
accommodated for a two weeks’ outing, and re- 
turning them, bring out others for the same 
length of time, and so through the summer; 
but I have thought as the factory will be 
closed for two weeks, we can take advantage 
of that fact to carry about a hundred into the 
country for a maroon of that length.” 

She paused, looking inquiringly at her sis- 
ter. 

“ Go on, little schemer, you are not through. 
Proceed with the details. Where are ‘the 
sinews of war’ to come from? and give me the 
‘local habitation and name’ of the favored 
place for the visitation.” 

“ I thought Uncle Lester’s would be a suit- 
able place — if they are willing. Only think of 
those great elm, oak, and hickory trees in the 
grove: a famous place for a camp. Since the 
new railroad is built it is only a half mile from 
the station. Then about money: we can get 
the daily press to print articles on the sub- 
ject and solicit gifts. Subscription papers can 
be opened at various popular stores. I do not 
doubt the railroad would give us free trans- 
portation, and brother Alfred’s military com- 
pany would lend us tents. Those they used 
12 


178 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


at the encampment last summer were particu- 
larly thick and large.” 

“Well done, little sister,” was Alfred’s ex- 
clamation, who unseen had entered the room 
in time to hear the narration of her plan. 
“Well done; your ability to devise is be- 
yond praise. Now let me assist you to exe- 
cute. I can answer for the tents: they are 
yours to command. If the plan is carried out, 
I feel confident that Norton and I can man- 
age the question of transportation satisfac- 
torily.” 

“To-night at the meeting of the Epworth 
League I will submit the project for discus- 
sion, and bring you a condensed report of all 
that is said and done. As so many of the fac- 
tory children are in our mission school, and 
most of the teachers belong to the ‘League,’ 
we can make our plans to-night for immediate 
execution.” 

Mrs. Dabney was right in her conjecture. 
The report she brought to Annie was one of 
unbounded enthusiasm. As time for work 
was limited, a great deal that was preliminary 
was accomplished before the ‘League’ dis- 
persed that night. Committees of all kinds 
were appointed. One to visit the parents of 
the children and ascertain who desired to join 


ANNIE COOPEE'S FEIENDS. 


179 


the excursion, for the invitation was by no 
means limited to those connected with Morris 
Street Mission; another to prepare papers of 
explanation, with subscription lists attached, 
to be left at prominent points in the city; 
one to visit the city papers and request co- 
operation and assistance by frequent and en- 
thusiastic editorials; yet another to make pur- 
chases of supplies that would be needed for 
the undertaking. Mrs. Dabney, in behalf of 
her sister Annie, volunteered that she would 
write to Mr. Lester in regard to their object- 
ive point; she was also unanimously request- 
ed to prepare lists of required articles, a duty 
that her clear head and rapid thought gave a 
guarantee of being well done. 

The next morning the city was thrilled by 
a fervid editorial that struck the chords of 
popular sympathy to vibrations of abundant 
generosity. “ Striking while the iron was 
hot ’’ was in order, and well did those com- 
missioned to the task perform it. The words 
“Fresh Air Fund” were on the lips of all and 
heard on every corner. A stream of givers 
and gifts made glad the hearts of all holders 
of lists, so that when Annie’s neatly written 
memorandum of articles to be purchased was 
given to the committee a well-filled purse ac- 


180 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FRIENDS. 


companied it. Mr. Cooper declared that lie 
believed Annie had not omitted one article for 
use or comfort, and that if he had to cater for 
the needs of a colony about to sail for an un- 
inhabited island, he would give her the con- 
tract of ordering supplies. 

Pleasant surprises awaited the purchas- 
ing committee when merchant after merchant 
would either present them with a handsome 
discount on their purchases or decline to in- 
clude every item on the bill, thus allowing the 
surplus to be placed on the list of luxuries, 
which Annie’s thoughtfulness had prepared 
for just such a contingency. 

Alfred Cooper had not overestimated the 
ability of himself and Mr. Norton to negotiate 
with the railroad officials for special accom- 
modation: one company supplying them with 
a car, another giving it transportation over 
their road. 

Olive Hastings and Claude Stanley, the 
committee to visit parents and children, had 
been thorough in their canvass; so when An- 
nie received the reply from her uncle stating 
how pleased his family would be to receive 
the excursionists, little was felt to be done but 
to fix the day of departure. 

The tents and other conveniences were, how- 


AKNIE COOPEB’s FRIENDS. 


181 


ever, sent on in advance, and received by Mr. 
Lester, who, assisted by his family, soon had 
them erected and everything in readiness for 
occupancy. Mrs. Lester and Mrs. Cooper 
were sisters; affectionate intercourse existed 
between the families; especially were Annie 
and Rosy Lester endeared to each other; fre- 
quent letters were exchanged, and Rosy made 
annual visits to her cousin. Annie’s interest 
in Rosy’s pleasures and endeavors had been 
shown by gifts to the little country church 
which owed its existence, not remotely, to the 
impulse of Rosy’s girlish efforts. An organ, a 
communion service, and a library served to 
keep in mind the generous donor, who, though 
not able to about doing good,” might be said 
to live only for the good she could do. Truly 
glad was Rosy and her family of this oppor- 
tunity of aiding Annie in one of her schemes 
for the happiness and benefit of her fellow- 
creatures. It was a labor of love to make 
ready for the unique picnic. 

At the last Mr. Barker found that business 
engagements forbade his accompanying the 
party. This fact occasioned much disappoint- 
ment, only partly relieved when he designated 
Mr. Norton, his substitute, as generalissimo 
of the forces. He was ably assisted by Mrs. 


182 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Dabney, Olive, Claude, Emmie and Ida Page. 
The privates of this “Fresh Air Army,” as 
the children called it, were not entirely com- ' 
posed of juveniles: three or four feeble, over- 
worked women and a few mothers with puny 
babies were among the number. 

A bright and beautiful day sniiled on them 
as they trooped to the waiting, car. Every 
lady was closely occupied in answering innu- 
merable questions and supplying the wants of 
fully one hundred children. 

Mr. Norton soon found his office no sinecure. 
Having special charge of the commissariat, 
the calls upon him began before the city limits 
were passed. To his dismay he found watermel- 
ons to be the most popular feature of his sup- 
ply. Like Eleazar of old, he “smote the” 
watermelons “until his hand was weary, and 
his hand” almost “clave unto the” knife! 
Too gallant to hint at weariness, it was not 
until the last of the mighty pile had been di- 
vided that he asked, with a most suggestive 
grimace, if “Miss Annie, in her miniature drug 
store, had provided a liniment for worn-out 
muscles, or ointment for blistered hands.” 

The day sped merrily by. When the chil- 
dren were not eating they were singing. It 
was tlieir delight to create a sensation at every 


ANNIE COOEEE’s EMENDS. 


183 


station by breaking forth in full chorus. Ar- 
rived at their destination, a deputation of 
kindly neighbors were there to convey them 
to Mr. Lester’s farm. Soon they were all 
stored away in buggies and wagons, and ere- 
long the gleam of white tents in the grove, as 
the rays of the setting sun fell upon them, an- 
nounced that their journey was ended. 

To describe all the pleasures of the next 
ten days would be a voluminous undertaking. 
Best from work, pure fresh air, and ever va- 
• rying exercise soon began its beneficial effects 
on old and young. 

Hired cooks prepared the meals out of doors 
in gypsy style. Long tables were built under 
the shade of trees. Belays of girls, chosen 
among themselves each day, served as wait- 
resses, beautifying the tables with wild flow- 
ers, of which they wove garlands and wreaths 
also for their own adorning. Swings in the 
grove were always surrounded by merry 
groups. Bope-jumping, croquet, games of 
ball, every device for enjoying the long sum- 
mer days had been furnished; in fact, each 
day brought a new revelation of delight to 
the children, and proofs of the kind thought- 
fulness that had provided it. To each girl, 
one morning, would be given a paper doll with 


184 


ANNIE COOPER S FRIENDS. 


her dainty outfit and a pair of scissors; the 
next a picture book, then checker-boards; after 
that thimbles, china dolls, and the delight of 
a little girl’s heart — scraps of various fabrics, 
sizes, and hues, with which she could exercise 
her ingenuity and skill in preparing a ward- 
robe. 

The boys were as well provided: knives, har- 
monicons, base balls, bats, belts, and caps, in 
turn were distributed to them. The height 
of happiness was reached when Mr. Norton 
called them around him, dispensed fishing 
hooks and lines, and accompanied them to the 
creek, promising lessons in swimming. What 
more could a boy desire? Long drives around 
the neighborhood in a large wagon were as 
much enjoyed as any tally ho party. The mer- 
riment on these occasions would reach its cli- 
max. At night petroleum flambeaus blazed 
among the trees, and girls and boys united in 
games of romps, their shouts of laughter 
echoing “over the hills and far away! ” 

The neighbors of the country side sent in 
offerings of milk, fruit, and vegetables. From 
the city would daily come the remembrances 
— brought express free — of ice, fresh meat, 
even huge freezers of ice cream. 

The “Fresh Air Fund” — merged now, as 


ANNIE COOPEE’S EEIENDS. 185 

the wit of the company called it, into “ Fresh 
Air Fun” — was not forgotten until the maroon- 
ers came back to their homes. Fried chicken, 
peach pie, and great tubs of iced lemonade 
were at a discount — almost. Midday lolls and 
afternoon siestas were at first occasionally in- 
dulged; but the allurements of outdoor pleas- 
ures generally overbalanced their attractions. 

The ladies to whose exertions all this was 
due felt deep gratification, as day after day 
passed and nothing occurred to mar the peace 
and pleasure of the scene. Mrs. Dabney told 
her sister upon her return that nothing had 
touched her more than the sight of one of the 
jaded women, who was also almost blind, sit- 
ting all of one morning in one of the most 
remote swings, evidently supposing herself 
unnoticed and alone, gently swinging back 
and forth, and singing in her poor, thin voice 
song after song of praise and prayer and 
thanksgiving. It impressed her as being the 
worship of a sincere heart, uplifted by the 
impression of nature upon one so unused to 
its softening and holy influences. 

Olive Hastings improved the opportunity of 
getting still closer to her “girls,” all of whom 
were in the company. They knew her and she 
knew them better in the ten days of their 


186 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


outing than they could have done in months 
of their usual intercourse. Her influence over 
them expanded, their ideas of life and of duty 
enlarged, their aspirations were kindled. They 
felt that they never could be just the same 
again, for the impetus given them by their 
disinterested teacher had been sufficient to be 
enduring in its upward tendency. 

Claude, Emmie, and Ida united with Mr. 
Norton in laying dignity aside, romping and 
playing with the children continually. 

The most interesting event, certainly to the 
lookers-on, was the service held Sunday after- 
noon. Notice had been given, and from miles 
around the neighbors came to witness the 
sight of over one hundred city children, 
mostly operatives in a factory, gathered for 
pleasure in the open air. Vehicles of every 
description were on the edge of the grove, 
horses and mules tied to the branches; a pass- 
er-by would have supposed a camp meeting 
was in progress. Seats had been supplied. 
Singing and prayer had solemnized the crowd, 
and a few words of welcome had been uttered. 
Then, by request, the children went through 
their usual exercises, the infant class espe- 
cially, with their prompt answers and motion 
songs, causing much admiration. Song after 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


187 


song followed till lengthening sha'dows caused 
the guests reluctantly to leave. 

But all things pleasant come to an end at 
last. Up to the final day the sky had been 
unclouded. The little stock of medicines had 
not been needed, and nothing had cast a shad- 
ow over the trip. And now preparations to 
leave on the morrow were in progress. Prot- 
estations of willingness to remain indefinitely 
were uttered by many, and vague wonders ex- 
pressed ‘‘if we’ll ever come back.” 

Mr. Lester and family, with Mrs. Dabney 
and Olive, were sitting in the front veranda. 
Directly a group of elder girls, headed by 
Claude and Ida, approached. They were fol- 
lowed at a little distance by the entire com- 
l^any assembled on the lawn. Lizzie Higgins 
advanced, so bright and rosy she would not 
have been recognized as the wan, weak crea- 
ture whom Mrs. Dabney had driven to the park 
a few weeks before. With a few simple words 
she expressed the thanks of the Fresh Air 
Marooners to Mr. and Mrs. Lester and their 
children for all their kindness to them since 
they had been among them. 

Ida’s clear voice led off in the sweet song, 
“ God be with you till we meet again.” As tb(‘ 
tender words rang out on the summer night, 


188 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


tears came to many eyes. The last vibrations 
died away, and Mr. Lester, with hand upraised 
and bent head, repeated that prayer which 
grows deeper and higher as the years pass 
by, all voices together acknowledging Our 
Father/’ 

The return trip was made safely. Mrs. Dab- 
ney and her coadjutors had prepared packages 
of surplus provisions as gifts to those who 
needed them, which Mr. Norton afterward 
undertook the duty of seeing delivered at their 
various homes. 

The yells of excitement as their car rolled 
to its stopping place, by the young lungs so 
revivified by the recent inhalation of fresh 
air, could not but be condoned by those in au- 
thority. Hurried leave-takings — and in a few 
minutes, scattered like dew by the sunshine, 
the picnickers had vanished, and the ten days 
maroon was a thing of the past. 


CHAPTEK XYI. 


It required several days to exhaust the fresh 
air subject in Annie’s room. Mrs. Dabney, 
Olive, and Claude each had a different aspect 
in which to present things; Mrs. Dabney 
having a larger interest in recollections of 
Elmwood, being the bearer of many messages 
of love from the dear ones there. A new object 
appeared, however, in a few days, so attract- 
ive that the present alone absorbed attention. 
This was no other than a visitor, the youngest 
sister of Mr. Cooper. She was thirt37--eight 
years of age, but still very beautiful. Her 
most distinguishing characteristic was the 
power of attracting love. Her relatives were 
devoted to her, and her annual visit was looked 
forward to as the most enjoyable event of the 
year, by none more so than by Annie, for they 
felt the tenderest attachment to each other. 
Every one wondered why Isabel Cooper had 
never married. She had had offers by the 
score, but no member of her family had ever 
seen reason to suppose her heart had been 
touched. She was still peculiarly attractive, 

( 189 ) 


190 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


with a complexion childlike in its purity and 
transparency, the dimples of youth still play- 
ing hide and seek in the cheek and chin; her 
starry eyes bright and clear, revealing the 
beauty of the soul within. No one would 
dream that she was nearing the close . of her 
fourth decade. 

Isabel’s greatest interest in life was in the 
temperance cause; for twenty years she had 
been one of its strongest apostles, and one of 
the most decided, but one of the gentlest and 
most retiring. She worked in ways that suited 
her. She could no more have taken an active 
part in any association than she could have 
changed the color of her hazel eyes, but she 
wore the white ribbon invariably, and many a 
youth dated his total abstinence resolves to a 
quiet tete-a4Ue with her, when her low, plead- 
ing tones had tendered his heart, and her 
reasoning, so lovingly spoken, convinced his 
head. With pen as well did she labor, her 
leaflets and essays being widely distributed. 

And now she had come to pay her yearly 
visit, and Annie basked in the sunlight of her 
sweet, strong nature, and felt the oneness with 
her beautiful aunt that kinship of spirit alone 
can give. • 

One evening it happened that they were 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


191 


quite alone and would be for hours. There 
had been a sudden fall of temperature and fire 
had been kindled in the grate. Their conver- 
sation from taking a wide range had ceased, 
and Miss Cooper sat with her eyes fastened on 
the glowing coals. Annie regarded her stead- 
ily. At last she said: “Aunt Isabel, I would 
like so much to ask you a very particular ques- 
tion. May I?” 

“ Certainly-, my love. Anything you wish.” 

Anything? But would you answer it?” 

“ That depends. You can but ask.” 

“Well, why have you never married, Aunt 
Isabel? It has puzzled me all my life.” 

“Because, dear, Mr. ‘Bight’ never came,” 

“Now, auntie, I beg of you not to indulge 
in such antique jests. In short, don’t jest at 
all. Papa has often alluded to the many eli- 
gible suitors you had when quite a young lady, 
and we all know that your offers of marriage 
have not yet ceased. It does not need very 
keen powers of observation to perceive the in- 
tentions of Judge Sinclair or Dr. Bushton, 
f either of whom I would be pleased to claim 
as an unnle, but I am sure their cases are 
hopeless. Why are you so hard-hearted, Aunt 
Isabel? ” 

The face into which Annie looked for her 


192 ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 

answer certainly did not indicate that tlie 
heart within deserved the appellation. Ten- 
der, patient, and true should rather have been 
the designations. The lovely face was indeed 
one that had a story to tell. Annie recognized 
that and longed to hear it, still it answered not 
in smiles to the playful raillery, but grew more 
sober as she continued to gaze into the fire, 
and Annie, as she looked at her with wonder, 
fancied that tears were very near the surface. 
Pained at the thought of having grieved her 
loved aunt, Annie gently stroked her hand and 
said softly: “Auntie, pardon me. Consider 
my thoughtless question unasked.” 

“No, Annie,” was the reply that surprised 
her, “I will answer it. I know it is not 
prompted by idle curiosity, but that you 
might enter more closely into my life. I am 
willing that you should. I love no one more 
tenderly than I do you, and I feel strangely 
inclined to-night to confide to you the romance 
■ — the secret romance — of my young woman- 
hood. To no other ears have I ever whispered 
it. Circumstances, as you wdll see, combined 
to help me keep my secret ; with you, I know 
it will be sacred — till I die; then, if it can 
serve as a warning to any young girl, you may 
reveal it for that purpose. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


193 


“When I was eighteen years old, I paid a 
visit to a cousin of mine who lived on the sea- 
board of one of our Southern States. I an- 
ticipated the trip with great delight, for Lucy 
and I had been schoolmates and intimate 
friends for several years. She had been to see 
me at my beautiful home in Kentucky, and 
now I was to visit her and for the first time 
enjoy a sight of the sea. She lived in a thick- 
ly settled neighborhood of rich and refined 
people, who possessed full command of their 
time, and used it in the pursuit of the many 
pleasures and diversions to which they had 
easy access. The young men hunted and 
fished, engaged in manly contests, particularly 
rowing and sailing, while at night the young 
people met alternately at each other’s houses 
and engaged in innocent merriment. 

‘‘The favorite youth of the joyous band 
was Harry Elliott. From the first hour of 
our acquaintance we became friends, a feel- 
ing which on both sides soon ripened into a 
warmer sentiment. 

“How distinctly I recall the pleasures of 
•that month: the happy evenings when music 
rang out its enchanting swell, when joyous 
voices and merry laughter echoed all around, 
and ‘eyes looked love to eyes which spake 
13 


194 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


again;’ the delightful drives on roads over- 
arched with limbs of the majestic live oak, 
draped in their graceful mantles' of soft, gray 
moss, so picturesquely and weirdly beautiful ; 
with the festoons of the fragrant yellow jas- 
mine and the exquisite odor of the wild grape 
blossom loading the air, and causing me to 
appreciate, as I had never before done, the 
delicious perfumes of nature. 

“Then the still more charming horseback 
rides on the hard, white beach: the ocean’s 
illimitable space spread out before us, billow 
pursuing billow as the tide came in, dashing 
on the sands, breaking and retreating. I never 
tired looking at the novel sight, and my com- 
panion watched my pleasure with no less in- 
terest. He showed the greatest satisfaction 
in introducing me to other delights of the sea, 
teaching me to row, to steer, to manage a sail, 
till I began to be proud of my proficiency and 
he of his pupil. 

“And the moonlight strolls on the broad 
piazzas when he told me the ‘old, old story,’ 
gazing into my very soul with his piercing 
eyes, and winning my heart with ‘ many a vow 
of faith.’ 

“Ah yes, Annie; it all comes back to me 
as if it were but yesterday. I can hardly re- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


195 


alize that twenty years have passed since then. 
What is it you were reading to me to-day from 
Thackeray about each one in middle age har- 
ing a Pompeii? I believe it, for under the 
ashes of the past lie my happiest memories, 
my deepest disappointments. But, my dear, 

I do not wish to uproot aught that would sad- 
den you, merely to lay bare the passages that 
led me to usefulness and to peace. 

“ I will linger over those bright recollections 
to tell you of the happiest day of that glad 
time, truly the very happiest day of my life. 

“There was to be a regatta. Four boats 
were entered for the race. The oarsmen in 
each were young gentlemen, and they were all 
to be steered by young ladies. We had prac- 
ticed diligently for sometime, and the spirit 
of rivalry had risen high. Harry owned the 
boat in which he was stroke oar, had named it 
for me, and insisted that I should steer it, 
which compliment I hesitated to accept, fear- 
ing my inexperience would cause his defeat. 
He would take no refusal, declaring that vic- 
tory would be twice as sweet if I assisted him 
to win it; so, with fear and trembling, I under- 
took the task. 

“ The anticipated day arrived, cloudless and - 
cool. The spectators gathered on every side. 


196 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Each boat and crew had its friends, and the ex- 
citement increased as, at the designated hour, 
the narrow-pointed boats with their long, ta- 
pering oars were slowly rowed to the starting 
post. The bright uniforms of the men, of 
similar material and make, but different in 
color, added to the festive appearance. My 
sailor boy never looked handsomer, dressed 
in bright blue trousers and white flannel 
shirt with blue trimmings. A ribbon of the 
same hue was knotted at his throat, where the 
collar, of true sailor cut, exposed his beautiful- 
ly shaped neck. As he stood in his place, wav- 
ing his small straw hat, with its fluttering blue 
ribbons, in response to cheers for his boat — 
^ The Isabel ’ — my heart throbbed with pride 
and admiration; for he was my lover, and I 
gloried in the knowledge. 

“ Before we started he found opportunity to 
whisper to me: ‘Don’t be frightened, darling; 
only be steady and true, and you will surely 
demonstrate our boat to be like its namesake 
— peerless.’ 

“Soon the signal was given, and away we 
flew! What a scene! I was never so excited 
before nor since. My heart beat as if it would 
burst. I was conscious of the crowd of spec- 
tators; of the deafening yells and cheers; of 


ANNIE COOPEK’s FRIENDS. 


197 


the cloud o£ waving handkerchiefs; of the 
competing boats, now passing us, now falling 
behind; but I did not turn my head. Every 
sense was on the alert, every nerve and fiber 
quivered, yet I seemed to be almost rigid as 
with a grasp of iron I held the tiller, and my 
eyes never wandered from the goal. However, 
the strain was of short duration, for in a little 
while we shot beneath the flag, a full length 
ahead of our nearest competitor, and panting 
and trembling, I saw that we had won. Of 
the ovation that followed, I can give you 
no description. Compliments and graceful 
speeches overwhelmed me — the novice — who 
had displayed such unlooked-for skill. At 
night there was a reception, at which my gal- 
lant sailor crowned me ‘ Queen of Love and 
Beauty.’ No tribute, though, was half so 
sweet as the softly whispered words at parting, 
when he declared for the hundredth time how 
dear I was to him. 

“I could hardly sleep that night for the 
weight of happiness. When at last my eye- 
lids closed in forgetfulness, my slumber was 
profound and extended far beyond all reason- 
able limits. The sun was shining brightly 
when I awoke and found I was alone in the 
room. Voices in the adjacent chamber in- 


198 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


formed me that my cousin and a friend, who 
had spent the night with her, were not far ofip. 
The first words that came distinctly to me, 
through the open door, were these: ‘Yes, he is 
doing splendidly now, poor fellow!’ 

‘“I do wish it could last always,’ said Lucy 
in slow, compassionate tones. 

“ ‘ I fear there is no chance for that,’ re- 
joined her friend; ‘only think how long he has 
been addicted to it.’ 

“‘That is true; but if he can refrain, as he 
has done, for a month, why not forever? I 
cannot understand it.’ 

“ ‘ That is why it is so sad. The abstinence 
of a few weeks is followed by a more fearful 
debauch, as if the foul fiend took revenge on 
the resolution that had held him at bay for a 
little while.’ 

“A pause, and then — ‘Lucy, did you ever 
tell your cousin of his habits? He is evident- 
ly in love. I do not know her sentiments, of 
course, but it would be a fearful risk for any 
girl to marry a man so confirmed in his dissi- 
pation as Harry Elliott.’ 

“I sank back upon the bed from which I 
was about to rise, as if I had received a blow 
from a powerful hand. Harry Elliott! Dissi- 
pation! I could not connect the two ideas. I 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


199 


had not dreamed of whom they were speaking 
until his name reached my ear. I lay still, 
almost paralyzed! How unreal everything 
seemed! Was yesterday’s bliss a vision of the 
night? or was I now in another state of exist- 
ence, and would my vague condition soon pass 
olf and I return to joy and faith and love? 

“You may think that I was very easily im- 
pressed with a statement the truth of which 
I should have proved before accepting; but, 
my dear, I knew the girls to be his friends as 
well as mine: they thought I was asleep, and 
their tender, regretful tones carried conviction 
of their sincerity. Moreover, with this knowl- 
edge as data, I could now understand many 
things that Harry had said that had appeared 
incomprehensible; protestations of his own 
unworthiness chiefly, which at the time I had 
regarded as a noble humility— and blindly 
disbelieved. 

“Presently Lucy came into my room, say- 
ing: ‘Awake at last! Mamma forbade our wak- 
ing you. She said the “ Queen ” must not be 
disturbed; that the honors of royalty had been 
sufficient yesterday to fatigue you; and when 
I told her “ how uneasy lay the head that wore 
the crown ” — for I thought you would never 
close your eyes last night — she declared you 


200 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


should sleep, if you chose, till midday; which, 
by the way, it very nearly is. Will you get 
up now, my royal damsel?’ and she made a 
mock obeisance to me. 

“I smiled languidly enough at her playful 
sally, but asked her to indulge me a little 
longer. ‘ I was so tired.’ 

“ ‘ Certainly, dear, if you wish it. To-day, 
though, is the last of your visit to us, and we 
grudge losing any of your company; besides, 
have you not an engagement to drive this af- 
ternoon with Harry Elliott? And, by the way, 
cousin mine, don’t let his black eyes win your 
heart. I ought to have told you before that, 
while he is a charming beau, he won’t do to 
marry. Harry and I have been friends from 
childhood, so I hate to say anything to his 
disadvantage. However, his failing is no more 
secret in this neighborhood; and he is really 
not as much to blame as some think, for his 
father and grandfather before him were heavy 
drinkers, and the poor fellow inherits it, and 
I believe cannot help it.’ 

“ ‘ I have not the least idea of marrying Mr. 
Elliott,’ I replied. 

“ ‘You don’t know how that remark has re- 
lieved nie, Isabel: I was just the least bit afraid 
he might have fascinated you, he is so hand- 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


201 


some and agreeable. Now try to be rested by 
dinner and come down, or mamma will begin 
to try her medical skill upon yonr ‘Royal 
Highness;’ saying which, she left the room, 
and I was alone. 

“Do yon wonder at my saying that I had 
not the least idea of marrying the man whom 
I have confessed to you I loved, and who even 
then possessed my promise that I would do so? 
Ah ! I cannot convey to you an idea of the ut- 
ter detestation in which I held the vice of in- 
temperance. From my earliest childhood I 
shuddered at its consequences, and as I grew 
older observation and experience confirmed me 
in my belief that the only safety was in, the 
resolve to ‘touch not, taste not, handle not.* 
You have heard of my Aunt Miriam and her 
sad history? When I was fifteen years old, 
my mother — who was traveling in Canada with 
my father for his health — left me with her one 
summer, and I then had an opportunity of 
knowing what it was to be a drunkard’s wife. 
I was impressed with such a keen sense of the 
wretchedness of the position that a few years 
afterward, when I heard of her death, my first 
thought and words were, ‘ Thank God ! ’ I re- 
solved then, with the whole strength of my 
being, that I would never marry a man who 


202 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


drank. I did not know — how could I? — that 
I ever would be tempted, but when the trial 
did come I was equal to the test. It was a bit- 
ter struggle. God forbid that any you love, 
dear child, should ever be tried as I was that 
morning. I lay with my face to the wall, mo- 
tionless; had anyone entered the room they 
would probably have thought me asleep, and 
never imagined the fierce battle that was be- 
ing waged between love and duty: duty to 
myself, to my parents, even to my unfortunate 
lover; above all, or rather embodying all, duty 
to the right. 

“At last the latter conquered, and as the 
first bell for dinner rang I arose and made my 
preparations to descend to the drawing room. 
My pale cheeks were excused and accounted 
for because of the excitement and dissipation 
of the previous day; my unwonted quietness 
of manner was attributed to the consequent 
reaction; so I escaped the remark and ban- 
tering which otherwise would naturally have 
fallen to my lot. 

“Harry Elliott came at the hour appointed, 
and when I saw him so blithe and manly, with 
such a happy glance in his sparkling eyes, and 
felt the tender care with which he assisted me 
into the buggy, and attended to my minutest 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


203 


comforts, my heart sickened at the thought 
of how soon his high hopes would be de- 
stroyed and our relations forever changed. 

“ It was not long before he became aware of 
a constraint I could not control, and sought 
to find the cause. I did not trifie with him. 
I was too terribly in earnest and too heart-sore 
to attempt any cruel coquetries or to hold the 
subject in abeyance. Calmly and sorrowfully 
I told him what I had heard, and of my in- 
exorable resolve. He uttered no word of de- 
nial. ‘ What you have heard is all true,’ he 
said; ‘more than true. God knows I would 
tell you no falsehood; it would be worse than 
idle to attempt it, for all of my acquaintances 
could bear witness against me. I am able to 
keep sober for a month, as you have seen. I 
could hold out as long again, for I had just 
gotten through with a spree when you came 
here, and the demon of strong drink has 
often given me a furlough of that length. 
But O, Isabel ’—and his face turned deathly 
pale and his eyes blazed, while he caught my 
hands in his and held them with a viselike 
grip — ‘only try me. I have never had such 
an incentive before; you are the only woman I 
have ever truly loved, and for your dear sake 
I believe I could throttle this devil which pos- 


204 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


sesses me and be the man your husband ought 
to be.’ 

‘‘I cannot repeat all of our conversation. 
You can easily fancy it. It ended with my 
making this compromise: if for one entire 
year, from that date, no drop of ardent spir- 
its, wine, or beer had passed his lips, I would 
listen to his love; but one lapse, one single 
forfeiture of his word, and never again would 
I put him on probation. He gladly agreed to 
these terms. The next day I left for my Ken- 
tucky home — and I never saw him again.” 

The lady paused, closed her eyes, and a soft, 
suppressed sigh escaped her lips. Annie gen- 
tly kissed and patted the hand she held, and 
in a moment or two, while slowly stroking her 
niece’s head, the aunt resumed. 

“ Our letters were frequent, for, while refus- 
ing to be his betrothed, I remained his friend, 
deeming it but the part of friendship to assist 
him in his resolve by words of encouragement 
and confidence. For six weeks our semi- 
weekly letters were exchanged, his exultant 
in his joy over his continued triumph, and 
filled with bright portrayals of what our fu- 
ture should be. But one sad day no letter 
came. My lieart gave one great throb, and 
the room turned round! But I would not take 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FEIENDS. 


205 


counsel from my fears. He was sick, the 
letter had miscarried — anything, everything, 
rather than that he had been overcome by his 
strong foe. 

“ The next mail day passed, and still no let- 
ter, and the next, and the next! I knew too 
well then the reason, and hardly needed the 
confirmation given by a letter from Cousin 
Lucy, received some two months after that 
first fatal day of silence. Excusing herself 
for not having written for so long a time, 
pleading many engagements and a visit to a 
neighboring town, she added: ‘I have a bit of 
really bad news to tell you. Poor Harry Elli- 
ott has literally thrown himself away. About 
two months ago he got on one of his period- 
ic sprees, after abstaining longer than he 
ever before had done, and inspiring his friends 
with hopes of his complete reformation. But 
in an evil hour he yielded, and from that mo- 
ment his course has been downward. He has 
recently had a most fearful attack of delirium 
tremens, in which he nearly died, and now he 
is a perfect wreck of his former self. Instead 
of “sobering up ” as he used to do, and remain- 
ing sober for awhile, he drinks freely every 
day, avoids his old companions, and is the im- 
age of despondency. I met him the other day 


206 


ANNIE COOPEE’a FRIENDS. 


and took the privilege of an old friend to re- 
monstrate with him. It made my heart ache 
as, turning his gloomy, bloodshot eyes on me, 
he said: “Miss Lucy, I have given up; there is 
no use trying. I am going to the dogs, and the 
sooner the better. I wish I had died when I 
was so sick not long ago. I had the greatest 
incentive a fellow ever had for being a man, 
and if that can’t restrain me nothing can.” ’ 

“ One more extract from a letter Lucy wrote 
me, some three months later, will tell you of 
his sad end. I can easily recite it, for I have 
never forgotten it: ‘I have sad, sad news to tell 
you to-day, dear cousin. Poor Harry Elliott 
was drowned yesterday under peculiarly sor- 
rowful circumstances. He had been drinking, 
was not drunk, but so much alBfected as to re- 
fuse to listen to reason. He desired to go in his 
sailboat across the bay. A heavy cloud was 
threatening and the wind rising. All on the 
wharf attempted to dissuade him from the 
venture — in vain, he would not be detained. 
Those present saw him embark with serious 
forebodings, but hoped he would reach the 
opposite shore before the storm came. Alas! 
he did not. The squall struck his boat when 
he was a third of the way across. He was 
capsized, but struck out manfully for the 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


207 


shore. Bowboats were run out at once to 
help him, but he became exhausted and sank 
before they reached him. His body was re- 
covered to-day, and his funeral will take place 
to-morrow. Poor, poor fellow! He possessed 
noble qualities, and but for his love of strong 
drink could have made his mark in the world. 
Our whole neighborhood is sad, for in spite of 
his failings he was a universal favorite.’ ” 

The narrator paused a moment, then said; 
“And now, my dear child, you have my an- 
swer to your question. I have never married 
because my heart is in Harry Elliott’s grave. 
I have never loved another.” 

The tears had been for sometime trickling 
down Annie’s cheeks. Wiping them away, 
she said: “ Thank you, dear Aunt Isabel. I 
cannot tell you how much I thank you for 
opening your heart to me as you have done. 
I appreciate it the more,” she added with in- 
expressible pathos, “because I will never have 
a romance to tell you — or anyone. God has 
set me apart from all that — but his will be 
done. He has chosen us both in the furnace 
of affliction. We must not repine. We will 
know his reason for it some day. We will he 
^satisfied/ ” 

“ I can now say, my precious child, it is good 


208 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


for me that I have been afflicted. I have long 
since been perfectly resigned. At first I was 
not. I indulged too much in silent sorrow, 
dwelling upon what ‘ might have been.’ I al- 
lowed my thoughts too often to make long ex- 
cursions in the ghostlike realms of that vast 
territory, and was sinking into a selfish, useless 
life. One day my mood changed: a feeling of 
gratitude took possession of me that I had 
never seen my beloved other than at his best 
and noblest; that I could think of him as 
undefiled in my presence by the least trace of 
the poison. This was followed by an over- 
whelming sense of thankfulness that a few 
moments were granted him ere he sank in 
the deep waters. I remembered the penitent 
thief. ‘God’s mercy is very great!’ I cried, 
and my faith, which had faltered till it had 
well-nigh failed, revived. All the sweet prom- 
ises that are given to the suffering came to me 
with clearness and comfort. In addition, one 
day I read this striking passage : ‘ This is God’s 
way to make us fit for the Master’s service. 
How shall we be like him unless we suffer as 
he suffered ? ’ Then followed the solemn ques- 
tion, ‘Am I being made fit for his service?’ 
Surely I had had the preparation of suffering. 
I went to God for the answer — and received 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


209 


it. Luminous with the conviction of duty 
did my life work appear. I could serve God 
by rescuing those about to perish. With the 
assurance of what my line of service should 
be came wonderful opportunities and crown- 
ing success. My labors have been owned and 
blessed by the Lord. I can say truthfully, 
and with humility, that the blessing of those 
ready to perish has come upon me, and I have 
caused many widows’ hearts to sing for joy. 
Such, at least, has been their unsolicited tes- 
timony in regard to my quiet persuasions to 
observe total abstinence. At first the song of 
my soul — with a minor chord of personal sad- 
ness intertwined — was this: 

^ Go, bury thy sorrows, 

Let others be blest; 

Go, give them the sunshine, 

Tell Jesus the rest’ 

But as time passed on, the minor chord was 
gradually eliminated. The joys of service be- 
came mine; yes, my spirit did unceasingly ‘re- 
joice in God, my Saviour.’ I understood what 
was meant by the ‘ yesterdays of sorrow,’ for 
the glorious afterward had become my portion. 
I had proved God’s word to be truth. My sor- 
row had been deep and poignant, but ^after- 
14 


210 


ANNIE COOPEE’s EBIENDS. 


ward ' it had yielded to me the peaceable fruits 
of righteousness.” 

As Annie looked into the unclouded eyes 
now smiling lovingly upon her, a paragraph, 
that had attracted her attention in her read- 
ing that morning, came to her memory as won- 
drously appropriate to what she had heard: 
“ There is one kind of evolution in which we 
can all place our faith. It is the evolution that 
evolves out of human experiences the Christly 
character^' 


CHAPTEE XVII. 


“Aunt Isabel,” said Alfred Cooper one even- 
ing when their family circle was complete in 
Annie’s room, “ do you draw upon your imagi- 
nation for your facts in the many temperance 
stories you write?” 

“ I have never had occasion to do so. Enough 
thrilling and touching incidents come under 
my knowledge, or are related to me, to sup- 
ply all material I can use. It is a satisfaction 
to me to add footnotes occasionally, declaring 
an episode ^ a fact^^ or that certain circum- 
stances were ‘literally true.’ It carries more 
conviction, I think; and truly, in all misery 
caused by intemperance, truth is stranger 
than fiction.” 

“That undoubtedly is the case. I asked 
you the question having in my mind an occur- 
rence the plain narrative of which points its 
own moral. If you desire, I will give you the 
naked facts, which, in preparing for a popular 
story, you can clothe with any vestment of 
pathos or romance you see fit.” 

Upon his aunt’s expressing her desire to 

( 211 ) 


212 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS, 


hear the story, Alfred continued: “Nearly a 
year ago I spent a month with a friend of mine 
in one of our lower counties. During that 
time we were inseparable, so going with him 
on all errands I became acquainted with most 
of his neighbors. At church and Sunday 
school I noticed one man,. Tim Eevells by 
name, as one of the chief singers. He was 
punctual, and brought with him his four little 
children. In speaking of him as a chorister, 
my friend informed me that he was a clever, 
industrious man as long as he was sober, but 
when once he began to drink he would keep 
it up until he was unable to work. He was 
not a steady drinker, however; and if he could 
have only resisted his periodical inclinations, 
he might have been a valuable citizen. 

“ In the second week of my visit Revell be- 
gan to drink, and his system, already w^eak- 
ened by years of dissipation, sank under its 
influence till he was seized by the fiend delir- 
ium tremens. His ravings, however, indicated 
no inclination to injure anyone, but he sat a 
victim of abject terror, fearing violence for 
himself. 

“His wife, who had much influence over 
him, was entirely without fear at first, but 
as his disease increased she accepted the offers 


ANNIE COOPER’S FRIENDS. 


213 


of friends to remain with her at night and oc- 
casionally in the day. His mania assuming a 
more alarming form one afternoon, she sent 
for her next neighbor, whose house was in 
sight, to come to her. They were good friends, 
and Sol Perkins felt no sensation of fear. 
His and the wife’s theory was not to oppose 
Revell, if possible, in any fancy he might 
have; so when he concluded he would go to 
the wood pile and cut wood for his fire, Per- 
kins consented and accompanied him. As 
they left the room the wife whispered a cau- 
tion, to which Perkins replied: ‘Don’t you be 
afraid; Tim’ll i;ever hurt me.’ Vain confi- 
dence! for in less than ten minutes Eevell 
rushed into the room with terror-stricken 
countenance and shouted to his then trem- 
bling wife, ‘Pve killed Sol! ’ 

“‘Why?’ burst from her pale lips. 

“‘Because he was stealing my mule and 
trying to kill my children,’ were the words of 
vagary he used in reply. 

Bushing to the door, one glance without 
assured her of the awful truth. Poor Perkins 
lay prone upon the ground, blood flowing from 
three wounds made with the ax upon his 
skull! 

“Panic-stricken, the poor woman snatched 


214 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


up her youngest child, and, calling to the oth- 
ers to follow her, fled from the spot. Over 
to the house of the wounded man she sped, 
carrying the appalling tidings to his wife and 
eight children. The eldest of these, a youth 
of eighteen, seized his gun and ran to his fa- 
ther’s protection, fearing, however, he would 
find but his lifeless body. The pulse still 
beat, and bringing water in his hat from the 
well he tried in vain to revive him. The 
news had spread, and it was not long before 
the nearest neighbor came to his help. To- 
gether they bore the poor creature to his 
home, where the wails of wife and children 
fell on an unheeding ear. 

“In the meantime Kevell ‘held the fort.’ 
Intrenched in his house, with the deadly 
weapon in his grasp, it was a serious thing to 
attempt his arrest. Finally men enough as- 
sembled to make the effort. It succeeded, and 
in a few hours he was lodged in the county 
jail. 

“ Poor Perkins lay in an unconscious con- 
dition for three weeks. At first physicians 
thought it useless to attempt any operation, ex- 
pecting his life to end in a few moments; then 
hours were their limit, but as he did not die 
they undertook what their skill would allow.” 


ANNIE cooper's FRIENDS. 


215 


‘‘And he really lias not died? ” asked Miss 
Cooper in wonder. 

“No; he is still alive, such living as it is. 
He is intelligent, contrary to all anticipation, 
but one side is so badly paralyzed that he is 
unable to walk alone. It is impossible that he 
will ever be able to aid in the support of his 
large and dependent family. Neighbors were 
kind to them in their deep distress. His boy 
deserves praise for his steady industry through 
the year: with the help of the mother and sis- 
ters they have made a crop, and I understand 
will ‘ pay out,’ an ultimatum the highest they 
could hope for.” 

“And the unfortunate Bevell?” 

“ He languished in jail nine long months. 
He could not be brought to trial at the spring 
session of court, for then Perkins was hover- 
ing between life and death. Last month, 
however, he was tried, and is now a free man, 
declaring he will never touch, taste, nor handle 
again that liquid destruction. It has been a 
year of sorrow and trouble to fifteen innocent 
persons because of the indulgence in sin of 
one weakling; trouble which no amount of 
good conduct henceforth can undo, for it is 
not likely that Perkins will ever recover. 
Truly ‘no man liveth unto himself.’ Now, 


216 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


auntie, I have given you a plain, unvarnished 
tale, as true as it is sad. Use your rhetoric 
and logic in its embellishment, and send it 
forth into the world on its mission of useful- 
ness.” 

Two months had passed since the fresh air 
trip, when one Sunday morning Mr. Norton’s 
familiar face was missed at the door of the 
mission. His ready smile and warm hand- 
clasp had given welcome alike to stranger or 
friend, and as one after another passed the 
portal the fact of his absence was noticed and 
regretted. This regret deepened into appre- 
hension when, from the desk, Mr. Barker an- 
nounced the serious illness of their constant 
friend. “ He is too sick to receive calls,” he 
added, “but he knows we love him, and sent a 
request that each one of us remember him in 
prayer.” 

At the Thursday night meeting, the appre- 
hension increased, for tidings from the sick 
chamber were of a most discouraging nature. 
Another Sunday came, and Mr. Barker, with 
choking utterance, told them that never again 
would that genial face give smile and welcome, 
for the spirit had gone to the God who gave it. 

The funeral was to be that afternoon at St. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


217 


Peter’s, and tlie teachers desired the entire 
school to attend and pay their last tribute to 
him who had conferred so many kindnesses 
upon them. 

It was a touching scene. Mr. Norton had 
been unmarried, but he had relatives to shed 
bitter tears at his loss, and many friends and 
acquaintances. Every seat of the large church 
was filled; even the aisles were crowded. As 
Mr. Wilkinson’s solemn voice was heard re- 
peating, “ I am the resurrection and the life,” 
every heart thrilled with gratitude that the life 
which had just left them, they confidently be- 
lieved, had gone into the enjoyment of life 
eternal. 

The services were irregular. Mr. Norton’s 
case had been peculiar. Turning from a life 
of pleasure and utter disregard of religion 
after reaching his meridian, it was well to con- 
vince his sometimes reckless companions that 
the change had been radical and afforded him 
an experience which the world knows not of. 

Mr. Norton had so much loved the talks and 
testimony of those who enjoyed what he called 

the old time religion,” that this recollection 
caused Mr. Wilkinson to conduct the services 
on that line. He first told of his intercourse 
with him, of his sincere penitence, his earnest 


218 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


regret over his wasted years, his trembling 
faith, his unfeigned humility, and his peace- 
ful, trusting death. 

Mr. Barker then testified to his devotion to 
the interests of the mission, his Christian ac- 
tivity, his goodness to the poor and distressed, 
his eager desire to invest his life, his time, 
his means in work for the glory of God and 
the good of his fellow-men. Then Alfred 
Cooper, as an intimate friend, spoke of the 
card he had given him which aroused him to 
the importance of the reinvestment of his 
life, of his ready yielding to its suggestions, 
and urged ail young men present to lay out 
their lives, as their dead comrade had done, to 
the best and greatest advantage. “What a 
commentary,” he said, “is this crowd, these 
demonstrations, to the power of unselfishness. 
Our friend, in moments of dejection, has said, 
‘ How few will mourn for me when I am gone.’ 
Ah, love truly produces love, and the heart 
that once beat in that cold frame pulsated 
with such generous impulses that with him to 
witness distress was to compassionate it, to 
see suffering was to relieve it.” 

The selected music of the choir was appro- 
priate, and sung with touching tenderness; but 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FRIENDS 


219 


quite as impressive were the sacred songs — 
which had been his favorites — sung by the 
children of the mission school. Friends came 
forward and looked upon his pale face: many 
of them were rich and in places of trust and 
honor. The school he had so loved filed past 
also, and the tears and sighs of both rich and 
poor were equally sincere. Floral designs, 
elaborate and costly, were laid upon his grave; 
the children of the mission encircled it, and 
by each hand was softly laid a sprig of ever- 
green, as acceptable, for they gave what they 
could. 

So Percy Norton’s life was over. Little did 
he foresee how soon its end would come the 
night he held the little card in his hand and 
pondered its questions. Blessed had it been 
for him that he had answered them as he had 
done. What if Alfred Cooper had not handed 
him that card fraught with such potent possi- 
bilities? ’Tis true ‘'a thousand ways has 
Providence to bring his wanderers home,” but 
to the limited range of our human vision it 
appears that his conversion was due to the 
fact that Alfred Cooper had done the work 
given him to do, when he did the little some- 
thing'’ he could do," he ought " to have done 
when, with a prayer for the Holy Spirit to 


220 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


bless his^act, he placed the admonition in the 
hand of his friend. 


The results of Percy Norton’s investment 
of his life did not cease when he was no long- 
er here to direct it; for when the budding 
violets had made redolent his resting place, 
his sister’s husband sent for Mr. Barker and 
told him how they wished to perpetuate their 
brother’s name and work. 

Because of his love of the mission, they 
desired to assist in procuring it a permanent 
home. Their handsome gift would enable the 
plans that he and Mr. Barker had often con- 
templated to be carried into effect, and when 
the building was complete, with its various 
appliances for spiritual, mental, and physical 
culture, the “Percy Norton ” Mission would be 
a perennial benefaction. 


CHAPTEE XYIII. 


Although six montlis had passed since Plora 
Woods removed into the country, the Cooper 
family had not lost interest in the brave young 
girl. Indeed, Mrs. Dabney had frequently 
driven out, accompanied by her brother, to 
procure flowers or plants for herself and 
friends. A few days after the funeral of Mr. 
Norton she again invited Alfred to be her es- 
cort, as she desired to pay for Ihe floral offer- 
ing she had ordered for that occasion. On the 
plea of business he declined, so she took the 
cars for her destination. J ust before it started 
Flora herself entered, but neither perceived 
the other till the train was in motion. Then, 
with a little ejaculation of pleasure. Flora 
came forward. 

“O, Mrs. Dabney, I can’t restrain my confi- 
dence ! I must at once tell you my errand to 
the city and my success. I took in this morn- 
ing a basket of handiwork of various kinds, 
specimens, having more at home. I was just 
a little nervous about it, fearing others might 

( 221 ) 


222 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FEIENDS. 


not admire them as much as I did; but I have 
sold them all, and have orders for more.” 

“ I congratulate you, but am not surprised. 
You know what I think of your fairy fingers.” 

“I am so glad you hare come to-day. I 
have such a large order for a chrysanthemum 
wedding that my handsomest blossoms will be 
cut to-morrow.” 

“ Did your salvias prove as popular as you 
hoped?” 

“Yes, they paid me well, as do my ferns. 
But golden-rod was my grand opportunity. 
It was so pleasant to go in the fields and have 
them for the gathering, like my beautiful dai- 
sies. All clear profit, you know, for I do not 
charge for my time; the pleasure and health I 
derive from my rambles are ample compensa- 
tion for that.” 

Yfhen they reached “Sunnybank,” Mrs. 
Dabney’s appreciation of Flora’s fairy fingers 
increased. The greenhouse in perfect trim; 
everything needing it defended from wind and 
frost; the falling leaves prudently saved for 
compost; an air of timely thrift revealed every- 
where. “Flora,” she said, “you should be a 
farmer’s wife. Your genius is manifestly in 
that direction.” 

Flora blushed and said: “Hubert has helped 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FRIENDS. 


223 


me in everything; his improvement in health, 
because of this outdoor life, has been greater 
than we anticipated. But come into the house ; 
mamma will be glad to see you, and I wish to 
show you my handiwork. I will first exhibit 
my stock in trade, or the raw materials per- 
haps I should say, then the results of my ma- 
nipulations.” 

So saying. Flora opened a large box which 
contained the fruits of her walks in the wood- 
lands since she had come to “Sunnybank.” 
Gnarled and thistled things, seed pods, cones 
of pines, fir, and sweetgum, berries, pieces of 
bark, mosses — anything uncommon or odd 
which many would have passed by without a 
second glance, she had gathered and stored 
away till the fall work was over and the length- 
ening evenings had come; then, drawing from 
her treasury things new and old, she had used 
her taste and ingenuity to accomplish sur- 
prising results. 

“ Look on this picture and then on that,” 
quoted Flora as, with a twinkle of satisfaction 
in her eye, she raised the cover from a large 
table and disclosed its secrets: fanciful pic- 
ture frames, cute little brackets, baskets, card 
receivers, paper weights; articles in quaint 
designs for use or ornament, some in natural 


224 ANNIE cooper’s friends. 

colors, others gilded or bronzed; graceful 
wreaths, tastefully mounted, some of perfectly 
preserved autumn leaves, others of “ skeleton,” 
their delicate tracery being of fairylike beauty. 

Mrs. Dabney’s delight was undisguised. 
“Flora, I believe you could make a living in 
the desert of Sahara!” 

“O no,” w^as the laughing response, “for 
there I would lack the opportunities that the 
inspiration of my name reveals — Flora Woods 
■ — no woods or flora there, you know. Now, 
mamma, it is your turn to show off! Mrs. 
Dabney, reserve some of your adjectives for 
her work.” 

Mrs. Woods’s display consisted of beauti- 
fully hand-painted cards of various floral de- 
signs. 

“Cottage Industry!” exclaimed Mrs. Dab- 
ney; “ that should be the name of ‘ Sunnybank’ 
henceforth.” 

“ Mamma gave me an utter surprise when 
she* showed me these cards. I had no idea she 
was reviving her favorite accomplishment 
until she handed me some to take to the city. 
I sold them for menu cards, and have the rest 
engaged. By the way, mamma, here is a let- 
ter from Mrs. Bussell. I got it from the post- 
ofiice while hurrying to the station and have 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


225 


not opened it Mrs. Dabney will excuse you 
while you read it, I am sure.” 

As Mrs. Woods read her expression changed 
so visibly that both Mrs. Dabney and Flora 
observed it The latter could not control her 
anxiety, and asked if anything had happened. 
For answer Mrs. Woods read the letter aloud. 

Mrs. Bussell wrote of the death of her son’s 
wife, and stated that therefore the plans of 
her life would be changed. Her son entreated 
her to remain with him and care for his little 
ones, and she declared that now she could not 
be satisfied away from them. She would be 
compelled to sell her home, but promised that 
their convenience should be consulted and her 
agent be instructed not to give possession to 
any purchaser until Mrs. Woods had made 
satisfactory arrangements elsewhere. 

As she listened to the letter Flora grew 
pale. Pressing her lips together she walked 
to the window in silence, looking out over the 
garden that had given her so much happiness. 
Her mother watched her with troubled eyes, 
and for a few moments no one spoke. 

The surprise had come in the nature of a 
shock to Mrs. Dabney too, following so im- 
mediately upon the exuberance of spirit dis- 
played by Flora over her deserved success. Be- 
15 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


226 


fore words of encouragement came to her, Mrs. 
Woods spoke: “Mrs. Kussell is very kind. 
I am sure she regretted causing us this disap- 
pointment — ” 

Her words roused Flora who, though there 
was a quiver in her voice, smiled as she said: 
“ Now, mother, your old Saxon motto comes 
in, ^ Doe the nexte thynge,' only we have first to 
find out what that ‘ nexte ihynge ’ may be; then 
we will do it somehow, never fear.” 

“And do it well, my brave girl; I am sure 
of that,” cordially spoke Mrs. Dabney. “ If I 
can help you, let me know. I claim a right 
to do that,” touching her little silver cross. 
Promising to see her again in a few days, she 
took her leave, knowing that mother and 
daughter would at once wish to consult over 
the matter. 

So absorbed in the subject was Mrs. Dab- 
ney that she lost no time in informing her 
brother, and asking his assistance in helping 
her friends. Her idea was to find a spot as 
eligibly located, and lease it for them for a 
term of years. At her request her father 
cheerfully agreed to be responsible for the 
rent. “ That may be necessary as a form, dear 
papa, but I am satisfied, from what I have 
seen of Flora’s power of resource, that she 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


227 


will be independent of all need or desire for 
aid.” 

Alfred, who had appeared buried in thought 
for sometime, then spohe: “You can make 
your plans, Alice, as you fancy, but another 
and a very much better one has occurred to 
me. I will call on Miss Flora this evening 
and submit it for her approval.” 

“What is if?” 

“ I don’t care to explain unless it meets her 
most cordial approbation.” 


Mrs. Dabney was so deeply interested that 
she remained in the library till a late hour, 
awaiting Alfred’s return. At last his foot- 
steps were heard, and she met him under the 
hall lamp. “Has she decided upon a plan?” 

“Fully.” 

“Was it the one you proposed to her?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, what is it? Why do you answer in 
monosyllables?” 

“I have found a purchaser for Sunny bank, 
upon one condition: that Miss Flora will re- 
main there always as its mistress.” 

“How odd ! And where will the purchaser 
live?” 

“ O, he will live there too.” 


228 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FKIENDS. 


‘‘Alfred, do be more explicit. Tell me, what 
did you propose to Flora? ” 

^'Myself! ” 

As the light at last broke upon his sister, 
she threw her arms around him, with a little 
shriek of delight. “You lucky, sly fellow! I 
never dreamed it 1 But if you had looked the 
world over, you could not have found a greater 
treasure.” 

“We are unanimous on that point,” said 
Alfred Cooper. 


Christmas was approaching. Not only in 
homes of wealth and comfort were prepara- 
tions made for good cheer and joyous reun- 
ions, but from various centers of benevolence, 
scattered throughout the city, preliminary ac- 
tivities were in progress to enable those less 
fortunate to realize that the angel’s invoca- 
tion of “good will to men” had not grown 
faint through the ages; but on the contrary, 
its eternal vibrations of music were attuning 
hearts to truer accord on every recurring 
Christmastide. 

In Annie Cooper’s pleasant sitting room 
the lady teachers of the Mission Sunday school 
had assembled, and assisted by other members 
of the Epworth League, and even a few of the 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


229 


“Helpful Ten,” were busily at work preparing 
for the Christmas tree which was to gladden 
the hearts of the children in whose lives joy 
and kindness were so much needed. Dolls 
were being dressed, party-colored bags filled 
with nuts and candy, gayly tinted decorations 
and strings of popcorn and holly berries made 
ready, toys assorted, labels prepared and at- 
tached to presents of value; while from the 
parlor came sounds of music where Claude 
Stanley was practicing the leaders of the car- 
ols and recitations to be used on the festive 
night. A display by Mrs. Dabney of an as- 
sortment of knitted and crocheted articles, 
combining use and beauty, made by Annie, 
and intended as presents for the women of her 
class, were causing remarks of admiration and 
surprise at the invalid’s unwearied industry, 
when the postman’s whistle was heard and in 
a few moments Mrs. Dabney was waving over- 
head, in order to secure attention, a closely 
written letter. 

“Be quiet, all, and let me read to you our 
Oklahoma letter! ” 

“ Hush! hush! a letter from Miss Kate,” was 
the answering chorus, and Mrs. Dabney read: 

My Dear Fellow-workers: It gives me so much happi- 
ness to call you so, and it is a title you richly deserve. 


230 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


When I examined the contents of the Christmas box 
you have sent to me and my school, the tears fell freely, 
and I exclaimed, “ Blest is the tie that binds our hearts 
in Christian love! ” I know the work that you do, my 
dear friends, is much and varied. 1 have each one of 
you in my thoughts as I write. I know that some of 
you will, as Sunday school teachers, as members of the 
Epworth League, and as King’s Daughters, have hearts 
and hands full all through the holidays, giving pleasure 
to all with whom you come in contact; but I am confi- 
dent that what I say is true, when I assert that nothing 
you will do can be a better act than that of remember- 
ing my scholars as you so generously have done. I can- 
didly admit it was not a surprise tome. The many to- 
kens of remembrance I have received from one and 
another of you since my residence here prepared me 
for your liberality at this season when your hearts 
prompt you to every good word and work. 

But if not surprised, I am yet profoundly grateful, 
and desire to express my thanks for its contents, from 
the beautiful dressing gown for my dear husband to 
the smallest toy and picture book for my youngest 
pupil. 

Only think what it will be 1 A Christmas tree for 
children who have never seen one! Do thank my dear 
Annie especially for preparing those lovely evergreen 
mottoes. The sacred words will aid us in making vivid 
and real to them the birthday of our Saviour. How 
clear and lasting will be their first impressions of its 
true meaning! 

Since I wrote to you last our little hamlet has grown, 
new settlers are rapidly moving in, and a large store has 
been built. The merchant had an eye to the growth 
of the place, for at present his stock of goods requires 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


231 


only a fraction of the space. Ascertaining this fact, I 
had an idea! I immediately cherished and developed 
it. The next day my husband had to leave for his 
farthest appointment. This absence afforded me the 
opportunity I wanted. I personally applied to our 
“citizens” for cooperation and help in the execution of 
my “idea” and with such success that when he re- 
turned I showed him in triumph our chapel! A par- 
tition between Mr. Diggs’s front store and bedroom 
gave us a long room in the rear for our purpose. The 
seats were — well, we could sit on them; Mr. Parker 
does not preach very long sermons I So now we have 
a place for our Christmas tree. I am determined the 
room shall be whitewashed to throw in relief and full 
effect Annie’s beautiful inscriptions, and have more 
light and brightness generally. 

I will let you know how it passes off, but pen and 
ink cannot portray the wonder and delight which will 
appear. Mr. Parker can hardly keep the secret. He 
has several times examined every article, except the 
dressing gown — trust me for hiding that from him till 
Christmas morning, when, arrayed in my own new suit 
— how perfectly my new' dress fits! — I will adorn him 
in its graceful folds, to the delight of us both. 

I thank you truly for sending the gifts suitable for 
the Indian mothers. Therein indeed you are iny fel- 
low-workers. Every little mark of interest increases by 
so much my hold upon them, and adds to my happi- 
ness in proportion. Do you not remember the peculiar 
interest I have ever felt toward the Indians? The fact 
of my now being able to teach and help them to lives 
of Christian civilization is one of the greatest joys of 
my happy life. My husband and I feel that we are 
just where God wishes us to be. We felicitate our- 


232 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


selves upon our work, our opportunities, and, I am 
grateful to say, our successes. His labors are abundant 
and owned of God. Mine are truly those of love. I 
receive no compensation but the satisfaction in know- 
ing I am teaching and training children, both white 
and red, who would otherwise be neglected; their 
steadily increasing respect and love ; and the smile of 
my Lord. What richer payment could I desire? 
Hardship! We have eliminated that word from our 
vocabulary. In its stead we feast on the sweets of serv- 
ice, and are as happy as the days are long. 

Again thanking you, my dear sisters, for your good- 
ness to “your missionaries,” and wishing you all a 
merry Christmas and most happy New Year, and the 
Holy Spirit, in all of which my husband joins me, I 
am, as ever, with the tenderest love, 

Your friend, Kate Parker. 


CHAPTEE XIX. 


Christmas day was bitterly cold. The Coop- 
er family were at breakfast when Alfred 
walked in with the morning paper in his hand. 
“Here is work,” he said, “for each member of 
leagues, brotherhoods, guilds, or endeavor 
societies, as well as every man with a spark 
of benevolence in his soul. Indeed, if there is 
anyone with soul so dead as not to feel the 
divine flame, this fervid editorial by Woodfln 
will create and fan it into a blaze. It is su- 
perb. I know the city will be electrifled and 
respond. It is well to have such an exponent 
of lofty, unselfish philanthropy in our midst, 
able with tongue and pen to impart to others 
the glow of his own heart warmth. Think of 
him through this freezing night — thermome- 
ter below zero— sending his reporters to can- 
vass highways and byways, and he also going 
from house to house to seek sufferers, then 
consulting with the Mayor at midnight, in or- 
der to relieve actual cases of suffering without 
delay. Now with his magnetic eloquence he 
has dashed off an appeal for every citizen to 
do his duty in the premises. He relates cases 

( 233 ) 


234 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FRIENDS. 


SO pathetic, so thrilling in their need, that I 
know all who read will feel as I do — in haste 
to do their part. Then he winds up with an 
exhortation based on this holy season, what it 
is to us and what we should make it to others, 
in language so exquisite that it, like the senti- 
ment, appears almost inspired. Here is the 
paper. I have not time to read it aloud. 
Mother, please give me another cup of coffee; 

I wish to get off.” 

When at night Alfred (5ooper returned to 
his home, the enthusiasm of the morning had 
not abated. In ardent terms he related his , 
experience of the day: ‘‘I believe it is the 
most unique manifestation of prompt and 
thoughtful benevolence on record. When I 
reached Woodfin’s office this morning it had 
become a vast depot of supplies, while the 
street in front was jammed with wagons, drays, 
and all kinds of vehicles. Every variety of 
merchandise, coal, and wood had been con- 
tributed. Many persons having given money, 
when they realized the extent of the enter- 
prise, returned, as you did, father, to duplicate 
the gift. To-day we saw Woodfin exhibit his 
executive ability. If it was left to the men 
he directed to-day, he would be elected to the 
exalted office of Commander in Chief of the 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


235 


Army and Navy, if lie aspired to that honor. 
Men of all ages — youths on small salaries up 
to millionaires— worked like beavers under his 
control, assorting and arranging their loads; 
then, taking the reins, drove around like de- 
livery clerks. Relief trains followed each 
other in rapid succession to every section of 
the city; no nook or corner overlooked; every 
detail remembered, till by noon there was no 
one in the city, white or black, that lacked any 
of the necessaries of life, and the stores had 
not been exhausted. A happy Christmas had 
it been for givers and recipients, but surely 
the happiest man of all must be he to whose 
spontaneous charity and loving-heartedness it 
was all due.” 

“That is true,” said Mrs. Dabney, “for 
while his assistants gave as readily of sub- 
stance and service probably as he did, his was 
the bugle call, prompted by his love for hu- 
manity, which summoned them to coopera- 
tion.” 

“Yes; and ‘one blast upon his bugle horn 
were worth a thousand men.’ Ah, what a gift 
is his! Unparalleled magnetism that thrills 
the hearts of others, and causes them to follow 
his leadership, won by the spell of his noble 
thoughts and golden speech.” 


236 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FRIENDS. 


“I have thought all day,” said Annie, “how 
approvingly our dear Lord has regarded those 
busy men who have been following his exam- 
ple in ‘going about doing g,ood.’ What a 
beautifully spent Christmas! How the an- 
them of ‘Glory to God, good will toward 
men,’ has been chanted in actions to-day! ” 

“ Few men have been at church,” remarked 
Mrs. Cooper, “ but how much better have they 
been engaged. Their voices have not been 
heard in the songs of praise, but they have 
been active in doing those things for which 
Christ assures us we will be questioned and 
commended at the final d^y. It has been a 
Sabbath spent as he would have it — in per- 
forming acts of mercy.’' 

“I call it a day of ^applied Christianity/ 
Well for us if its infiuence could extend 
through the entire year,” added Mr. Cooper. 

“There is the trouble,” said Alfred; “many 
a man whose soul has. been made to glow to- 
day as he experienced the truth of the Master’s 
assurance that it is more * blessed to give than 
to receive,’ will probably for another twelve- 
month let his gentle humanities lie latent, 
simply because his sympathies will not be 
moved by a direct appeal.” 

“If the old law of giving tithes was ob- 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FRIENDS. 


237 


served — a law which has never been rescinded” 
— said Annie, “ then, I think, the desire to be- 
stow that money aright would cause the mer- 
its of every claim upon us to be duly regarded, 
so that the poor coming in for their share 
would be more certainly, because more sys- 
tematically, assisted.” 

“ We know that there are earnest, generous 
souls in every community,” said Mrs. Dabney, 
“ into whose daily life charity and considera- 
tion for the poor enter as regularly as any 
other duty. Also we know that the bulk of 
the population able to help do not do so; so 
that, like buckets of water drawn from the 
great deep, the grand aggregate of need is not 
perceptibly affected.” 

“To the thoughtful and actively benevolent, 
how to help the poor,” remarked Mr. Cooper, 
“ presents a problem as vast in proportion as 
it is difficult of solution. So to relieve them 
as to eliminate poverty from our midst is im- 
possible. He who, to encourage liberality, 
has declared that ‘ Whoso giveth to the poor 
lendeth to the Lord,’ has also said, ^ The poor 
ye have always with you; ’ therefore we surely 
know that no amount of princely donation or 
individual or associated effort will succeed in 
banishing from the world that grim wolf that 


238 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


threatens the door of so many, whose utmost 
exertions barely suffice to keep him at bay. 
When we think of the causes that go to make 
up this grand total of poverty, we will not 
wonder at the impossibility of eradicating it. 
Among these are sickness of mind and body; 
habits of thriftlessness and indolence; igno- 
rance — deplorable and astounding — of how to 
husband time, resources, and opportunity; vi- 
cious habits, intemperance preeminently; the 
peculiar temptations that assail, and the lack 
of training and motive to resist them ; the en- 
chanting strength of associations whereby, 
being surrounded by evil and vice, they ‘ first 
endure, then pity, then embrace’ the almost 
resistless power of habit which leads them 
willing captives; the lack of self-respect, which 
indeed is most difficult to inspire amid their 
demoralizing surroundings, and finally the 
general hopelessness for the future, which, if 
indulged, is prone to sap energy and effort.” 

“But, father,” replied Alfred, “granted that 
poverty cannot be eradicated. In admitting 
that, must all effort for a permanent ameliora- 
tion of their condition cease? We know there 
are a few towns where the policemen are occa- 
sionally charged to seek out the worthy suf- 
fering and report their cases at headquarters. 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


239 


where funds are deposited to meet their needs. 
There are others well organized: districts can- 
vassed, visited, street-begging abolished, be- 
cause of the systematic help that waits on the 
truly deserving. Too much cannot be said in 
praise of the originators and executors of this 
plan, but it does not obtain in the large cities, 
and were it suspended, even for a short while, 
where it has been in operation, the poor would 
fall by their own weight, a helpless mass, into 
deeper misery because the hand of assistance 
was withdrawn. Now there must be a better, 
a more enduring method. I think the old 
adage, ‘ The Lord helps those who help them- 
selvesj’ gives us a valuable hint. To so place 
the poor that they may help themselves, may 
feel the consequent self-respect, may look 
through the vista of a continually brighten- 
ing future to the day when they would be no 
longer poor, in the sense we have been using 
that word — namely, needing and desirous of 
help from others — is surely a lofty aim. So 
to my mind the question is. How can this be 
attained?” 

“ My son, I have bestowed much thought on 
the subject. About six years ago, I wrote a 
paper embodying my ideas on the very line of 
this conversation, and suggesting as a remedy 


240 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


colonization; not to other lands, but in the vast 
tracts unimproved in the United States.*^ My 
plans were not formulated. I admit they were 
vaguely nebulous, but still possessed of suffi- 
cient nuclei to attract attention to their power 
of growth. I invited consideration to the fact 
that a supply of land for such purposes was 
owned by our Government, then to the demand 
for homes for the abject poor in the large 
cities, while the means for the conjuncture of 
this demand and supply could be found in the 
then overplus of our national treasury. I de- 
sired it to be a governmental enterprise, and 
urged the elaboration of the scheme by some 
philanthropic statesman. I was the more en- 
thusiastic on the subject because at that very 
time the daily papers stated that eighteen 
hundred families in one of our large cities were 
applying for help. I alluded to the noble dec- 
laration of Frederick the Great, that it was his 
aim to so govern his kingdom that every peas- 
ant should have ‘his fowl for his pot daily;’ 
yet he was considered a tyrant. I called his- 
tory to witness how nations had bent every 
effort to carry out each its ‘national idea,’ 
and anticipated the glory to our republic if its 
national idea should be to reduce poverty to 
its lowest possible limit; not to pauperize, but 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


241 


to elevate. 1 touched upon the economy of 
the thing. With the uplifting influence, thus 
exerted, crime would diminish, and better than 
expensive courts of justice, better than strong 
'and massive jails, better than the best devised 
systems of penitentiaries, better and cheaper 
would be a plan to deprive them of their cul- 
prits by making them law-abiding, industri- 
ous citizens. But ’ ’ — with a shrug of his shoul- 
ders and a twinkle in his kindly eye, ‘^my pa- 
per did not meet with the favor my partiality 
deemed it deserved; and I think your mother, 
its most ardent indorser, has it in careful 
keeping. 

^^Now, children, with this preamble, you 
may judge how gratified I have been in the 
perusal of Gen. Booth’s ‘In Darkest England 
and the Way Out,’ when I tell you that in it I 
recognize my germ-thought — enlarged, elabo- 
rated, perfected. His idea of home and for- 
eign colonization, for the teeming population 
of the modern Babylon, is beyond praise. 
Better still, he has proved the practicability 
of his plans by their success; that is, as far as 
he has gone in the various benevolent enter- 
prises in London and their suburban colony.” 

“How rejoiced I am,” interrupted Mrs. 
Cooper, “ that his calls for money are meeting 
16 


242 


ANNIE cooper's FRIENDS. 


with such abundant and rapid response! If 
his life is continued, I doubt not the time will 
not be long ere his plans will culminate in the 
colonization in foreign lands of the rescued 
ones he has prepared so carefully for those con- 
ditions. Bead the book, Alfred, and I am sat- 
isfied you will not think his plans chimerical.” 

“Chimerical? Why should they be so con- 
sidered by anyone? We should be cautious 
how we thus brand any undertaking in this 
day of wonderful progress. History warns 
us against it, for the greatest achievements of 
ancient and modern times have been so con- 
demned by those who lacked wit to see their 
design, or candor to acknowledge it. Preju- 
dice and ignorance ever combat genius and 
invention.” 

“Yes,” said Annie, “the persecutors of Gal- 
ileo deemed his theory chimerical, but ‘the 
earth turned round for all that.’ ” 

“And,” added Mrs. Dabney, “‘the world- 
seeking Genoese’ was considered chimerical 
when, going from court to court, he sought 
in vain to impress his convictions on those 
who were able to help him prove their truth. 
But Columbus triumphed gloriously, and the 
Western Continent was demonstrated to be 
no chimera.” 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FEIENDS. 


243 


“ Our revered Gen. Oglethorpe’s scheme of 
colonization was not chimerical,” continued 
Mrs. Cooper, “when his benevolence enabled 
the victims of England’s unrighteous law of 
imprisonment for debt to begin life anew un- 
der the sunny skies of what is now the grand 
commonwealth of Georgia. Surely, then, the 
prisoners of sin and misery freed from their 
fetters by the philanthropic and spiritual 
agencies invoked by Gen. Booth may yet as- 
tonish the world by the results they achieve.” 

“He certainly appears to me to be better able 
than any man on earth to conduct such a proj- 
ect to a successful issue. His efficiency in 
planning and his executive ability are of the 
highest order. Of his consecration to God 
and love to his fellow-creatures we can have 
no doubt. His being at the head of an or- 
ganization which extends its ramifications 
around the globe gives him facilities for en- 
forcing his wishes unequaled by any other 
body of Protestants.” Mr. Cooper paused a 
moment, then added: “God speed the day 
when he — or him upon whom his mantle shall 
fall — may successfully lead the wretched mil- 
lions in the way not only out of ‘Darkest 
England,’ but also out of all the dark places 
of the earth.” 


244 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


Then Annie again spoke gently: “Papa, 
that may or may not ever be — we cannot tell; 
this we do know, there wdll always remain 
vast scope for home charity. *The privilege 
of ministering unto ‘the Lord’s legacy’ will 
never be denied while the world stands; so 
though we may pray for the success of all 
such plans, and do what we can to help every 
good object everywhere, let us take special 
care to so live that never at the last we may 
regretfully bewail, ‘But mine own vineyard 
have I not kept.’ ” 


CHAPTEE XX. 


The last day of the year had come, and quite 
a group of Annie Cooper’s friends had gath- 
ered around her. It was not by any appoint- 
ment they were there, but the subtle attraction 
of her sweet presence drew them as it so often 
had done before. The talk had been chiefly 
about a bit of information Mrs. Dabney had 
just given them, which, as her mother entered, 
she repeated. “ What do you think of a new 
society, mamma? Do you remember when 
we joined the Epworth League you inquired 
when would our societies end?” 

“Yes, distinctly. But I have no word of 
dissent. The League has proved itself so ad- 
mirable, has fitted in so exactly where it was 
needed, that I am simply receptive now and 
express no hasty opinion.” 

“Well, this is not a society after all. Mrs. 
Blount has invited me to join a band of ladies 
pledged to go upon call to nurse the sick.” 

“That is nothing new, my dear; you fre- 
quently go on such errands.” 

“But this will extend our usefulness. It is 

( 245 ) 


246 


ANNIE COOPEE’s EEIENDS. 


to be systematic. We are to go alphabetically; 
each a day in turn, receiving from the one who 
precedes us full directions in the case. More- 
over, we are to take a three months’ course of 
lectures upon nursing, which will be vastly 
helpful to us in our duties.” 

“That is admirable, my daughter. It really 
is what every woman ought to do as soon as 
she is grown. It should at once supplement 
her literary education. If practical instruc- 
tion upon the laws of health and the care of 
the sick were given to young women, how 
much better would they fulfill the duties of 
wife, mother, and friend; and often, often, I 
doubt not, lives would be saved which are lost 
because of ignorance.” 

“You will be better equipped for service 
another year, sister, in what is called in our 
League the Department of Charity and Help. 
Although ‘every act prompted by love has a 
blessing in it,’ still as skilled labor is more 
valuable than unskilled, so is a well-trained 
nurse more useful than an amateur.” 

“I know it, Annie; and then how pleasant 
the consciousness that I need not shrink from 
responsibility at a bedside, because my best 
will be better then than it has ever been.” 

“You spoke, Annie,” said Claude Stanley, 


ANNIE cooper’s PRIENBS. 


247 


of doing better work in the League another 
year. I hope we all may; still it is interesting 
to look back and see how much it has done for 
us. We have been helped every way. We 
understand that one of its designs is to pro- 
mote ‘intelligent loyalty to the Church.’ I 
think we all will agree that it is accomplishing 
that in our cases. How little we knew of the 
history of Methodism and the biography of 
its founders before we began our course of 
reading! ” 

“And now we feel so well informed, don’t 
we?” laughingly asked Emmie Herbert, “and 
so well acquainted with those blessed ladies. 
I wish I could have known Mrs. Fletcher; 
she is my favorite.” 

“Her history illustrates a text I have heard 
mamma often quote, ‘ The wrath of man shall 
praise thee.’ Perhaps if her parents had not 
forbidden her the shelter of their home in the 
beginning of her religious life, it would not 
have developed into such strength and beauty 
and consecrated usefulness.” 

“Then the miscellaneous books have been 
very helpful,” said Olive. “I feel that I have 
been much benefited by Foster’s ‘Essay on 
Decision of Character.’ I wish all young 
persons would read that. My copy is travel- 


248 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


ing slowly from boy to boy in my class; each 
one declares that he reads in order to remem- 
ber it. I am glad to be able to say that my 
study and the experience in the League have 
helped me much in my work among my boys. 
As my own appreciation of our fundamental 
doctrines has increased I have endeavored to 
impress them equally; also in regard to the 
ordinances and practices of the Church and 
the nature of its obligations whicli they have 
assumed. Then I simplify and condense these 
truths for my class of girls at the mission.” 

“That is right, my dear Olive,” said Mrs. 
Cooper; “it is wise to lay a basis of intelli- 
gence always in teaching the young; other- 
wise the tendency will be to run too much to 
emotion. Let me read you an appropriate 
extract from Bishop Haygood’s ‘Our Chil- 
dren : ’ 

‘ The emotion of sympathy is transient. It is a reflec- 
tion which vanishes when the emotion that produced 
it is withdrawn. But the emotion of intelligence is as 
durable as emotion can be or ought to be. It does not 
depend upon the presence of emotion in some one else. 
It springs from within and not from without. It is a 
product of thought. The mind is the heart’s mouth. 
Truth is the bread of life. Put truth into the mind. 
Feed the lambs.’ 

“I am delighted that Brother Wilkinson 


ANNIE COOPER S FRIENDS. 


249 


appreciates these thoughts. Every parent in 
our Church must be pleased that he has es- 
tablished the sermonette system for the chil- 
dren’s benefit. The ten minutes devoted to 
it before the regular sermon is well bestowed. 
It charms me to listen to his lucid and tender 
expositions, and to observe the intelligent at- 
tention of the little ones. I am not surprised 
that he has appointed a children’s hour every 
Sunday afternoon. He has told me that that 
short season in his study, when he talks and 
prays with them, is the best preparation for 
his Sunday services he has ever tried.” 

“The influence of these meetings over the 
children is incalculable,” said Claude Stanley, 
“but our dear pastor’s prayer meetings are al- 
ways seasons of blessing. I will never forget 
the one when ‘Daily Life with Christ’ was the 
subject. I remember Mr. Wilkinson’s stress- 
ing stated hours for devotion, and Christ’s in- 
junction to enter into our closet and shut the 
door. I have proved the advantages of obe- 
dience to it, both literally and figuratively: the 
former in the feeling of being alone with 
God, no human eye to view us, free to express 
our emotions or linger in prayer as the Spirit 
prompts; then, figuratively, we can the more 
easily shut the door of our hearts against wan- 


250 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


dering thoughts and distractions of every kind. 
I am sure that the observance of those two 
points, privacy and regularity in prayer, help 
me in my spiritual life.” 

“‘Living to God in small things,’ was the 
subject that impressed me most,” said Ida 
Page timidly. “I acknowledge that I have 
been too much of a ‘religious sponge,’ as I 
have heard it called: receiving all the time; 
reading, praying, listening to preaching all for 
myself; absorbing and not giving out to oth- 
ers of what I have learned and felt. Lately 
I have tried to do better, and as my life is in 
narrow limits, and I have no opportunities of 
doing great things, I will try to serve my 
Lord faithfully in small things.” 

Annie drew the blushing girl to her and 
kissed her. “And this is one of ‘ those small 
things ’ I understand. Eemember, dear, God 
gathers up with parental fondness all our frag- 
mentary desires and attempts at^good works.” 

“My mother used to love these lines: 

‘All may of thee partake : 

Nothing so small can be, ^ 

But draws, when acted for thy sake. 
Greatness and worth from thee.’ 

They comfort and stimulate me,” continued 
Ida. 


ANNIE COOPEE’s FRIENDS. 


251 


“As you are alluding to our League prayer 
meetings,” said Emmie, “ I will tell you the 
one that lingers clearest — and dearest too, I 
may say — in my memory. The subject was, 
‘How We are to Pray.’ Among many other 
good things, Mr. Wilkinson said that if our 
prayers for special blessings were in the spirit 
of Jesus’ prayer, ‘Father, glorify thy Son, that 
thy Son may glorify thee,’ then we might con- 
fidently expect as sure an answer as Jesus 
received. This idea came to me with the 
beauty and light of a revelation. In its illu- 
mination I saw that my prayers for my dear 
ones had been far below this spirit. I had 
desired conversion for them more for their eter- 
nal safety and happiness than that they might 
in and by their salvation glorify God; now ” — 
Emmie could not finish her sentence. Her 
friends understood the choking voice and tear- 
ful eye, for she had three brothers apparently 
indifferent to the religion she held so dear. 

“ Olive,” said Claude, “ do you remember 
Mr. Wilkinson’s remarks when the subject 
was, ‘Growth in Grace?’ How he described 
the solid substratum, the Eock of Ages upon 
which we should build? And his illustrations 
of the work we might build, from stubble to 
purest gold? ” 


252 


ANNIE COOPEE’S FEIENDS. 


“Yes, it made siicli an impression upon us 
that we at once began the reading of Bishop 
Fitzgerald’s ‘Christian Growth.’ Certainly 
no book in the entire course has benefited us 
more.” 

“My dear young friends,” now interposed 
Mrs. Cooper, “ it has gratified me so much to 
hear you speak as you have done. While it 
is delightful to cast such backward glances 
over the past year, we must not depend on 
those experiences, but live ever in the present, 
asking for the ‘ manna of to-day.’ My chil- 
dren say I always have an appropriate extract 
to read for any subject. The present is no 
exception; allow me to read you this from our 
Dr. Harrison: 

‘The spiritual progress of the soul depends upon 
present activity and forgetfulness of past attainments 
and triumphs. We should no more depend upon the 
triumphs of the soul achieved yesterday for the meas- 
ure of enjoyment to-day than we depend to-day for the 
nourishment upon the food taken into the body on yes- 
terday. The steady growth of the soul in divine grace 
is a necessity which no system of doctrine can elimi- 
nate from the gospel of Christ.’ ” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper,” said Olive. 
“We should all profit by these thoughts. I 
also have an extract I would like to quote; it 
contains the words of Bishop Fitzgerald. I 


ANNIE cooper’s FRIENDS. 


253 


have given them to my boys as an excelsior 
motto for them through life. Not only for 
them, but for us, should the loftiest known 
ideal be our aim. These are the inspiring 
words to which I refer: 

‘ The lifting power of an ideal element is almost im- 
measurable. God, our loving Father, is not willing 
that we should take any lower place in the moral uni- 
verse than the highest one to which it is possible for 
us to attain.’ ” 

Note. — ^Very many of the incidents related in this little vol- 
ume are true, having come under the observation of the author. 


The End. 





Jr 


» f- 

y 


9 ^ ^ 

^ ■ 

• • • » 

.* •* 


^4* 

t 


t' V 






•»rt' • • • ' 


• • ^ 


;^y 




>>* 


• r« 




. '/' 


/ ‘ 

V ^ 


y . '' ' 




» « / ^ — - ► m ^ _|t -* ^ 


f 

» '• 


I 


} '1 






l’’ '-^ tti ■ 

« V '* j ■►• • ' . -if It, .., 

•,M.. ^ 



V { » 

^ ■ 


K* 


. ■ ♦ 




^ir ^ 








'r 


HW 




'•v'vA •.^..- .r; ,; •_ a' ■ .^i-kiv ' V 

-, % ' -*. , . » ^ yy'*- 

“ ' . y^V > r ■ • - ---i: ' ' 

- • . * • - • V • X. . ' _ 

I. ». • . 


■ . 'I , 

-4 . ^ * 


* * “ ^ 

, .. . „ ,. l'@S&- •'V:^*' - v v> : 

''- ■' • Hw' '. • ■ •■ ’• •'*:?'• 

. • J»> * ■ rt • ■• ^ • V • - • ^ • -^ '^ - 

»■ ' r ' ■ \ ■ g • ■ / 

:>^ • i*' 


< f ^ 


*<► , 

» 





w 


. 2 * < ' 


. t 


i: 


1.' 


■ ■y •« ' 
r 


■ / . ‘ .► 


‘ > I 

9 


f * • 


• ^ 

• f j 


• ■ ^ 
\ 


. %’ 


•^' t 


r 

A k 


^ .* • 
«r ’7 

^ < 





r 


• -r » 


\ . 


' • »• 


i'A ^ 


'I 

’ « 


, -« ‘1-4 ! < •“ 

' -: 

• > I 


yp' 





V^' '■-* j*"f“ •'. ? * -j . ..- 

*- ‘•**^~* ‘ • ' -\ • ' ^ • «^ . 
- - r > . , , . 

' -'^ " •. .V-, . ^ ^ 


i^r3 


/' VV* 

% 


.1 


•• -t I 

*^- 
j •» , 

I • * . 


. V 


. '^ *»• I •' 

'-•, ■ • . *• A ./ « 


'•^v 


/ • • 


» 


. « . 

■f ' * 


.•V- 


*. . 

y 

- ^ 


» • . » I • • |i . ^ * 

. • , 1 (. • - ^ - f!*-. ..• • -r 


if‘ f. 

■■ 4 J^-A 


, c/ 


S * 


‘ t- 


. I 

» I 

•■r 


’4 


y' '-.*’ 


• « 




M • 

y^y.vV- -r 


/.'> 

V 




-.■ 4^-V^ ‘"y - " ’ 

• «• - 


* 

\ 


• r 

• • • , 
»ty 

>• f • 


. .'!, ■^- *- '‘v 




* 


<\ 


. - ^ .' 


. N 

'-*. » 


■- * f 

y - > 


•’ j 






y. 


/ >. 


> •• 


A 




■'■;v.c- . 

f ‘ • -A. 

* - ► 


\ ' 

; ^ 


» « 
- f 


r • 
\ * 


*>, 

# 

» •«. 

r •> 



\ r 


f 

« « 





y ♦ . 


u : ..y . " 

, . 1 - _ 

. I 


I 

V>. 


•i- ‘'y* i.- - 




V - .4 ,*,.■/♦ * ♦.4 ^ mm-. I f 

V . .-,• Acy' • y }„Ky 


^:l 

■"i 


•y 


y 
• » 


« 


"A , 


• . t k • 

. - A* 


k 


, 'il* 


* V ^ 


■ I ♦ 
m 
I 


. 

^.*4 


y, y ‘Vv" k 

' ' V’ ♦.'< *• 


'y\ .■; 


} 


X • 

•N . 


my* 


-■"■iL-M 


• % 


/ i 


I 

< • 


-• ‘ -w' 




<’T 

'» 


• j •? . 


r.tv ■ ^ 







r 

k • 


r « « t 


< 


1' x 
A 


' V . 




' ■w'4* ’ 

» i . ' 


^ m ^ 



• ^ 


^ ¥ 

. •* 


.'V- 




, . A« ■ • 4-.:> • 


•ts 


y • 




4* ‘ 




« 


I A' 


'.V 


f w 


• i- 


A • 


M. - 


•/. 

■\r 




• • V 

i 


•rVJli. - 








# 


r 

, ,%'• • 







* 

y . 



lli^ ' A. . 


V- 






. « 




► ' • 

% 


• ♦ * 

• • ^ 


•i V . 

i 


? < ! 


•^T 

► 


.. U./* 


. ' - ^ ’ V 

» s 

>- • 




■» . 


*'• I * 

^ V '. , 


■ • <■» 

-; jrr* f? 

• r - 


« 


» i 



• 'V- ' ^ 

-wr " 

•’» -,'f ? • t *• . ' 

• '• » ‘ ■ ■ ( . -. 


‘A- 

!’■ 




r » 


«•. 












- 


. > 




* 





• » 


I’ r 




I 

’ 4 


' V - 




• v: 


i * 


tS 




• \ ^ 






• » 


\ 


% 


• # 


« 

A ^ 




< 


V 

i* .. 

» • *^ ^ I 


.1 


•x, 1 , i* . 

'•• ,^r A> ^ 

s ' • C ♦ 


V , .1' 

. ■ i- , ' ■ 

'i- frA.r 


r 


/ 


' % 
' • v'-‘ ’ t:- . :;A’-. ■ 


'* . ‘ ' 'f^‘ ‘ tlSp •'.* • . ~ • . iii, ' •-■ *' , f ^ T * M 

' ■ - •-. : ' '-/V ■• '•■^ ^ 

V- ’ . ' ^ ■' . ^ ' *» ' ' . 2 

■•''■* ' .' ■ '.-*'■ ' ■ > ' ' '. -''v*' ■ ■ 

;.V-v ..;, - . . ;-;. .; • ,■ .... _ ^:,. _,.'V ■ . r,. .. ., ,V 


f 


r: » 

' » 


> ^ 


ml 


./ 




» • " ' m t m 

T ‘ * -l' • - . -■♦•.r #' 

I, I ' ^ ^ 

• 4 '’w 'j;-'- ; -i V-''- ■•" 

A* . t i^ t • V» ’ ■ ^ ^ * 




•V • I 


»< 

/ . 




» • 


✓ ' 
\t 


/ <* 


/*' j. 
» 


: ; V- y' ^ - " ■ .■■•' -'V ^ ■ ; 

..■^ -v... . ■., 

>■'■ •• - • '- - ■ -;■■ ^ V - .' . 

M ►-I ^ . • 


" ■'* A -Vl 

^^ '■ ■ '- • ™ 

-i" # ^ • J 

' " • J » 

.V 




. i-', •• •■ 

' ■ rf^, -• 

- >• . i ^ 




r. % • 


•tj' 


A V .• . .>« 

— • 


y' • 


!• 

'*4 » 




k'.. 


if ' '■ 


' > '*' 

»r '♦ 


w-‘ > 


I 4 * 


%. 




.•/ 


• V 

/ . 

* 

:‘x 

I i 



..r 


>V . 


. # T«^ ' 'ji 

. .f ^;; ' 

#• *i <A J:j: '■ ^ 

✓ 


. f 


4* ♦ 


V 

.• 

■ ' ' .' . V 

y ' ,• . ' ' • "yr •-■P' •" ■■V^-- 




^ ' ■ - - ;-'.v'^'' * ■ ■ :'• 75 

■V-:.. 7 ■ ■ ■■■ 

'u* * **• * VI 

, .V' ' ' * 

^ ‘ y V. ^ 

• f ^ ^ ^ 

« > > • . ^ * i J V 


4 # 


V . 


* 

/ % • 


' . s’- A» ’ ' • A' 't' 

■' ■ :' ’ . *. ' - '■-* 
,v • ' ‘ ■■ 


-■Hf'f'. .- V 
■•' .V 

- V 


^p~ 

. -ih's. 


• 


I ' 


'i^Vr/”/' 


. \ 

I I 

f 




H rh 







> ir 


• f' f 
>/ 


^ VJ 


A 


f ^ 

k\ »* 


✓ 


- V 



t ' 

« 

4 
4 




. ^ 


, « 

*" V 


<•'> 


'7^ 


V ^ *’ ' 

-•1 ^ * 


. I' 


. V 


« *0^ I 

I '« t 


i V 




>.4 

t 




V-jf^ •• 

^ . , * *k 


:“4W' 
_ < 


j> ‘ • 


y t 


r • •' 

4 


I t 


•te t 

-» • 


I ’ ■ . 

♦. •> . V » 

»l ■ 

• ■ >' 

•-4 ^ ' : 


» ft 

r * - 

$ 

1 ^ ^ 

/ • • •< 

• V 

m 4 


• 

r 

1 / 

« 



^ . >•' 

• 

. •: '» 

^ « 

• - i .• 

M * 

• 


/■ t -J / \ 

ft 


j 


f 


^ 1 ^ • •♦ ♦ 


.• . - yl’ V -* 

• t ‘ 



« 

» « 


# s \ 


I 


• ft 


# 




X 




• 1 


i \ 






-Xv- ^4-. ' 

* / , 

. X 

^ ^ ^ • 






• • . % • V 






: xr^'^s 





vr 


* ^’ * 

t ' 


^ \ 




*r I # 



’l» ^ 

v' V. -. » • 

L.‘ » ud , 



V. 







\ 

■'. * 








-x: 


v-^r .* t 

W" - I 






✓ 

4i * 


’. » 


''V. <.’** 


*v> 


/ ‘ 


^ ^ 


.■ > 


I b 

^ 4 - 


* . It 

/ . 


^ • 




* • 

k 

»'*t 


s' • • ifi^* - - • • 

•^ * J**y^ ft . » 

f- • ^ ■ •. 


,A 


. ^• 


< . 


• 4 » 1 





> : 




V > 

C-. 


y \ 


r '<.4, ♦' 

•*'^' 'V*<T - v •• 

V -3r .-**^ ' > 


«• p 







• tr,"* :• _ 




‘.w .' 

r • 


$ ^ 


r-^> 


-A: ■■ -> 


. > 


•,-^'"» V ’ S>i4 ‘.- 

v^'V.v. ^ _ .• _ 


•“-/** 


'rff'^\ . y^' ' . • • 





7 ft*v 


- ^ 


^ •* 


♦ ^ 


./ 

-’'' s’ ' '4.'* • ’wV-^iV •■ **- 

\ :■ '- ;> ■•■ ;. 

' ^ ' • • • •* -• - r-i^^ * ; **• Xsv •» • ‘ 

'■ • ••• r. .“ -i '' ■.t2-''‘ ^ . * •* * 

^r/■^'-■■'■ ■ ■ ‘ v*' - * - i' 

•^ . A*. * iV i •- ^-r V W. 




>v, 

% 

r» 






# « 


• .'A 




f .. 


1 .■?■>-.■• 




:i’ ' 


• ^ ^ 

T- . 4 ^ 


ii:. 




« • 




"•> 


i. 


,«; -r 

•. 4''’ .-rn 


sV 


- 


'• ■ V* ■ 

• o 


!• - ' t ^ 




% « 

> •- • . 








X ' 


s • 




• « 


^ v» 


V. 


If' I- 


t 


•■' S 

• V * 


/. .^- 


N , 

I 

\ - 


>.s. 



I ' 


% 4 ^ 

*. S ■- • 


•f. 


!:■: ■ 
►u> _ .i>L_ “ - 


/• > " • -. 

'. ‘ '■ 'F' i- C’*^ '• V 

4' \ ^^ r r '* ' 


- 7^ .i«-rv 








r§.\ :. V • v^" : " i'- ' ' 

r-v-»{ *'• ' ^ ' '■ ■- ' - 

► ^ " r 3 I , * ’ ■ ♦ . ' ^ • s.^ • 

.;., -:T? : . .- -i 

' ' *• / -y -• ^ • V*^, 




• %« 

'->fc . * 

. %^-P V 'V 




A- 






< -> ^ 




4-. 


< • *. « ^ * y -/, «« *>’{ * i‘,^ • 


« 

» 1 




% <• 

• ^ 

. 

4^ ■ 


■\ 


I 

4 

V > 


.\- 


•• • 


^ i* - 


.N«^ 


V . 


« J 




J*' 




. *> 

v» •'— ■ ^ • >r * 


■ > r V •; • 


I 


■V, r, 


A 




- * i 


^ ft- ^ 

' *" vT 


^ • 

- f 

4-’r 


T - •• / ^ 

C -‘ ' s 


•* > 

' ■ A 

i 


' ■ ^ «■. *^rv .' 

^ - .A % - " 

♦ • i A - • 

* 


. » 


fV 

> 




7 

1 >*.»>* 


:-c* 



O ' -v. . '-f ^ 

? 4 . • 4 * 1. '. •- .«v-- 


'e 


A. I 






'f^ 


X #* 


V' 


^ , • 4 i* 


^'J 


.V > 


r 7 


rr 


IT 


'v' •; 
‘N- 


• % . r 

ft 


’ s 

■•.-V .¥’V' ►' 


■‘ ^ .T-T'-r 


’ ’ - , ^ ■ ’* . » ^ ^ ^ •; . •^7 ' 

■- y^:/}.c ■<-'■- "'■■■■ J : 




ir • 




.V 




• . % 


.. ■' 


4 ’rv 



. ^ 


0> 

% 


^ 

b.V, / 


ft 


« 

A . 




. •* 


. iN 


i.-?, fti r 

■■ 




:S 


Vs/ 


•% ' 


ir 


X 


» ' 

ft ^ 

ft 

•^f 


J'vi > 


- ' vi > 


. ., '/i 


— T ' 


I ft. 


*» s 


i;- 


*> 


*_ ^ 


• - V . - 






- ., ' ^ -v "•••• J ' ^ ’• ■•■’ . 


y PV.t' 

TV- • A- : ' ’ ‘^"* i * 

' t‘ • - 






' • 


. ‘ .r > 


f- 
1 *« 


- 


ft • 









r\ 




i 

t, 


« • * 


• * • 


• » A 




> ■% 

♦ % 


w-e: y 


-- f 


^ A • >' A 

'v^Kkr.i > .•;7 


'-•w V* 



, - • '> w* ? 

V ‘ %'i ' ^ -,!• 

• ' • . ' 4-‘ V * 5»7 

^ V* ' t ' 


V. 


« 


-• « 


^ . 


e * 


7 


♦ • 

A 

9 




4 ^ 




- ^ . i- 


^ •s 




S 

^ 


' . 


ft 


^•..v 


» 4 


J • 


^ * 


% 




4 • r-*- • 



V 4 ^ » r 


' li 


4 I *• ft 


- - ■ 


• ^ A 




*4 • 


/ V- - ^ - 


9 : '. 

V 4 . 


V « 


j? 


f . 


. -,v‘i / V 




u*’ 
















v^v> 


ft«: 




i^.' 




,47 . 


»■ 


■K 


4 ,vy 




M / 




'll 


"I 

m 


r«^ 




%n' 






. • •« ^ 

» *► 




tv 


T* 






r:.£' 








•it 




y\ •- 






? 






>h* .'*• 


< « 


'»ii3 


to 






Vti^ 


^r• 


* *■ - 




• r» 


>A- 




♦ •' 


'Vifii 








•^ii. 






:\. i< 


> :- 




K. 




• I 






♦t/ 


r^' 


^’ I 


h «*P. 




-11 


.# .*. 




V \ . i 

"As. .lx 




«; ^ 


'n 


•yx->4?5>: 


-•fn 


% « 


it •« 










A 


i 




1 1 




<;>} • 


1l|£< 


-j 


H- •^{^•‘ 


r -*. 

7’^ •% 


!!l 




». ** 


I K 








^ Ll 


t 


I V 




M<i. 


J^*r - 




r^ 


' % 


wi 






rj 


Af. 




'■'- 




t.v: 


f«4’ 


.* 




1 1 


\- -• 


.' r 




.■*;v 


>'3 '* " 4 


*y 




• t 


t2f 


■^1. 














♦ S 'i 


> 




•f 


♦ 


/■ 


*>. 


^ mV * ' a * ^ 

i'v. .»-,'*f}*^''? "j‘4?'- > 




Jt 




5/’]^ 




/ ». 


IM •* 






Ai VW 


- '•' ■ • 






1 


i-^, 




, « 


& 


•Lv.':- 


JS 


^1 


.3^'f 


’I" 


HI 


mr ■ L "a*]® _ 

» ™k2-., ># 'fcK! 








'-''i «' ) 






» » 








o; 

■^' ^i,* j T'^' _■ Jh‘. 

S • >1 ■*''- ’ ‘'f Wi^4 


■ X*-^ tv,,'*: 




3 


4 ..^. 


tf*. 













■4\,,v 


O \ '<A‘ x' 


.4' 


*n: 




T-.l“ 








s - .. 





t/A _ . 


•t 


* *’■ *■' 


V 













•X 





■’ -,i'. '■•'■«• 


'-'•ti.Tl ^ '- 1 ^- W ' - I tlfl 

Z**-^ ^ -0^ ">!l 














;m'^SV- tf- J. '.Li*v , -at'S-P 





IKTff ^ 

?^.i.-..,^, , , w- ;...- 

. •> ' 4^9 - ' ••1 

t^. 'Q . 


j«k 



^^'"■•-“-v M- 



cr 

• ' ^ V - 


r •*4 








■ w ^ '^-^am/ 








-•v 


T* 




> r^ ■' r^ ► 'V ^ * 



^-;*j , i 


■W 



iJl , ' ‘ . • 

s I ,.„^v:-.';iaM'*.k^*^-. 



u 






!nfe 




- ’ VI ./A •. ^ I. * - v' ■ . ^ • • , ‘'^1, J "■'■ ■,.:*• ’‘j? 

tr\'\ v •’.■ J-' ' , , - v. - . , ' ■ • •• :' 



' f 



r. ; 

* * 

1. 












• ■'. . V ■■'.'>•■.. 'f. •':■’•'■ •' . '. ^. .V ' . •*' .- , ■,'••. J ,- -■ ;. fc., ' > 5 ^ 


) 



■ t 


..r 


V-'-'' 'f. 


. '''fr-i. 


r' 




■ '. .y 

•■/■ ■ • ,f- 
. •.'< ••'<,.■ 
, ■ \ ' 

• > . i, 


' ■■■ ■ ■' 

TV^: ■'■ 


A-: 


•( 




■ ■'•■j 


f 

f' 

U' 


’. > 

^ - f 


f . 


t • 




! .\ 


. 1 


I «. " -f ' 
‘ *. * ' 

. W 


r 


V . 

I , 






. 1 * 




V.‘:V-r' V 

^> % .- 

t.' .• l'.- 


,'.V>' 4 'v //. , 

■-•..■ f; IN/ ■■ ,.■- 


> . 


• •A. ■ 

'■■A:- 

. *. 

'»7- ;•■ ' { 

it • 1 • '•* * 

• V •■ * 


, I 


■V. .- 


'•'•''W » ■ ' ••'C' -. ■' '■ .,■ ' 'h- ' ' ‘ ^ 

J. L'- .* . • . 1 . 


1 ' ••• ■'■ i: ‘ 


If--'’ 

•rVj 

tjV 'y-j ‘ • 


/-ry; V. ■' . 

»,jy'- •.■ J' 


. ^ • 

.’ • * • . * 




. * V 




/ ,- 

•■-V 


-5. 

v:-: % ' ■'- 

.At. I-* - •«- . 

L. V . ' . * ‘ . ■ / , 1 

t- '#!■"■ S’"' ^ ' . 

Vi}- h* “ • ‘ .... 

S'S '■. ■■. ' C'. ^ . 


■fe-v''VS''V V’- ' 'i'" ■ ■ • • S'' , ■ ' - 

;’V V 


, ^-U'- V V-* 




{ • 




r . _ .A m ^ 


. V .^• 


‘ ‘"J 




r»'. 

.-. 'v 




s ; 


*#, *. . 


•'« . -: ^ 


.iV., 


:*> .<->'• 


V ' t 

1 > 


^ . s 


X ' 


t 


V 

/. irW:^ 

■■ 


^ ' 




I •' 




K 




’ . i 

S .i 


■ V ' • 


' V 


•fh 


■r ; 


r 


I 


4 




'<» ' '. 


.C'*- 


i: 


li? 


a>',v.»r .^'" "•■'* V. - •■•;-?<’.' ■•- . .‘ ’-‘V'.'> -.V- .-•■ ..'•' ■'«> 

■ ■- -.--s 


4 *• 


•' \' 


• ., . . .' y y^' 

' ■'■;■ ^ s' ^ 

'. . •' •■•■'•• ' ■ r. .w 






Tr; 




LV / JN'* 


*■ 7 . 5 . 


7^ 


% 


% 




•’^ H 


•irs A‘. 








•S'-: 


- -1 •-.' ■ . • ' 4 ■ . ' • 


^ ' ■ ■ 


• . -y- 


X*, 


RS^ v%^&fiL {ai^> >>. '> * sjrw 41>k . ' t '.^ . UlMSThwOI 


** . • * 

W / 


i \. ' 






r 




‘t 

t 

4 , 


1 


y 


f . 




4 










4 


A 




V-, 



\ f 




r •, 

1 




r 



» 






